


Intertwined

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, But they're not very graphic so don't fret!, Childhood Trauma, Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, First Time, Flashbacks, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Hate Sex, M/M, Magic Gone Wrong, Malfoy Manor, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed, Sort Of, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: On the 3rd of May 1998 Draco Malfoy wakes up with no memory of Voldemort, the war, or Harry Potter, his supposed boyfriend.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 60
Kudos: 135
Collections: Anonymous, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to the wonderful Hurt Fest mods! This has been such a fun experience, and I truly appreciate all of your hard work.
> 
> A, thank you so much for being the best beta! My works wouldn't be readable without you!
> 
> E, thank you for being my creative director and giving me this idea. I know angst isn't your thing, so I promise to write you something fluffy to combat this! I love you so much.

Draco Malfoy woke up on the 3rd of May with a headache, the honey-colored light streaming in through the window creating a hollow pounding in his temples. Although he was lying down, he felt like he was flying on an unsteady broom, his stomach lurching with rolls of nausea.

The air in the room was cold and still, sending goosebumps up his sore arms as he pushed himself into an upright position. He blinked, swallowing the bile that was crawling up his throat while he took in his surroundings. He was in his bedroom - that much he knew - but things seemed different. However, the more he observed his room, the more he realized that little, if anything, had changed. His desk was still disorganized and riddled with ink stains, and moving photographs of his friends were still stuck to the corkboard that hung on the wall opposite his bed. Despite assuring himself that he was being paranoid, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Placing his bare, bony feet on the cold floor, he stood gingerly. Once in a vertical position, he took a step forward, immediately losing his balance. He placed his hand on one of the bed posts, stabilizing himself in the nick of time. The room spun before him, threatening to topple him over onto the hard wooden floor. After taking a few shallow breaths, Draco took a hesitant step forward. His balance still wasn’t what it ought to be, but it would get him to the bathroom.

He padded softly down the hallway that led to the bathroom on the second landing. The rest of Malfoy Manor was eerily quiet. His mother could ordinarily be heard putting on the kettle each morning. The absence of something so mundane, yet so reliable, sent a shiver down Draco’s spine as he stepped into the bathroom.

Without warning, his stomach lurched again. He doubled over, the vile stench of vomit filling the small room. By the time he was finished getting sick into the toilet, stinging tears were staining his face. He sighed, taking a large breath of air before flushing.

It was then that he caught his reflection in the mirror. His sallow skin stretched tightly across his face and there was a lack of light in his steel-gray eyes. His short, ashen blond hair was duller than usual, and there was what appeared to be streaks of dirt and soot staining his hollow cheeks. A large cut sat on his bottom lip and there were deep purple bruises lining the thin skin underneath his eyes. The realization that his injuries might not be restricted to just his face hit him, and he quickly peeled off his pajama top, revealing his pale, willowy torso. Raised silver lines jutted down his chest, only ending at his naval. It looked like he had, at one point, been ripped apart right down the middle and yet, he had no recollection of anything of the sort happening.

As he observed himself, he found a mark on his inner left forearm that he didn’t recognize. Black ink bled into him, burning against the starkness of his pale skin. The mark was of a skull with a serpent tumbling out of its mouth, the tip of it reaching the bottom of Draco’s inner wrist. The more he looked at it, the more he could feel magic thrumming in the veins that surrounded the mark.

“What in _Merlin’s name_?” Draco murmured, admiring his broken reflection with a grimace. He stared at his mangled appearance, wincing as he touched the pad of his right index finger to the cut on his lip.

Out of nowhere, a jagged flash of shattered memories came flooding across his mind. There was a green light, a black sky, and a castle crumbling in the distance. Then, nothing. The memories died as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Draco with the taste of uneasiness in his dry mouth. He didn’t know what any of the things he had briefly seen meant, and he could only guess that something truly awful had happened. He just had no idea what it was.

After relieving his bladder and putting his shirt back on, he began to unsteadily wander in the direction of his room. However, a break in the eerie silence stopped him.

“Draco,” Narcissa called softly, her voice stark against the deadness of the house, “is that you?”

Draco halted, looking over the banister to find his mother standing in the foyer below. He blinked, her figure coming more into focus. She wasn’t as cut up as he was, but she had still obviously faced the brunt of some sort of injury. The right half of her face was swollen and her white-blonde hair fell limply around her thinning face.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Come down here, will you?” Narcissa asked.

Draco nodded and he began his slow, dizzying journey down the grand staircase. He paused halfway down, briefly closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the world from spinning before him. Much to his dismay, closing his eyes did very little, and so he carried on. Narcissa met him at the bottom step, and she took her hand in his, leading him towards the sitting room.

Draco found himself limply sitting down on the emerald velvet sofa, his mother taking a seat next to him. He looked around at the dust settling in the nooks and crannies of the Manor, something amiss.

“Where’s Father?”

Narcissa looked at him, her platinum eyebrows knit together. “Sweetheart, your father was taken away early this morning. We knew this was going to happen.”

Draco swallowed thickly. “What do you mean he was taken away? What happened? Did he do something?”

“Oh, darling,” Narcissa fretted, cupping his cheek with her cold, slender hand, “surely you know what I’m referring to. We discussed it last night before you went to bed.”

Draco shook his head adamantly. “I can promise you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Narcissa bit her lip hard enough to draw a speck of blood. “Draco … We lost the war last night. The Dark Lord was defeated and your father was taken away due to his involvement. He’s in Azkaban.”

“War? What war?” Draco asked, hoping his mother was joking ─ that this was all some big, elaborate prank.

“Darling, the war against everyone who didn’t believe in Purebloods reigning. Do you truly not remember any of this?” Narcissa asked.

“No.”

Narcissa sighed. “Alright. How about Harry Potter? Do you know who he is?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve never heard that name before.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later found Draco sitting on the green velvet couch in the sitting room, an ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling above him. The early afternoon was muggy and charcoal-colored clouds filling the sky, which was threatening to unleash a violent downpour of summer rain.

His mother sat next to him, her ice blonde hair no longer falling limply around her hollow face, but instead held in its usual stiff cut that fell in gentle curls down to her narrow shoulders. Despite having cleaned herself up from the aftermath of the so-called war, Draco could tell that she was disheveled. The right side of her face, which had been swollen beyond recognition, was now stretching comfortably across her bones once more. However, there was a purple undertone to her skin that he had never recalled before, almost as if she was bruising from the inside out. He didn’t blame her. Although he couldn’t remember what had happened, his body could certainly feel it with every breath.

A sharp knock sounded at the front door. Draco began to stand, smoothing out any wrinkles in his black trousers and white collared shirt. Narcissa, however, stopped him.

“Sit down, darling. I’ve got the door,” she said, urging him back onto the couch.

Draco, not having much energy in the first place, couldn’t find it in himself to argue with her. The world was still spinning and he remained unable to take a step that didn’t involve any unbalanced falters.

Draco watched Narcissa exit the sitting room, her dark violet robes billowing out behind her as she moved towards the foyer. As soon as she was out of sight, Draco doubled over, resting his head in his hands, which were balanced on his thighs. He felt his body drain of energy as he listened to the far-away voice of his mother beckoning someone into the Manor. He rubbed his face, quickly adjusting himself so that he was in a position fit for accepting guests. His mother would expect nothing less.

The hollow clicks of Narcissa’s heels grew louder against the black marble floors. Eventually, she walked back into the room, followed by someone who Draco didn’t recognize. His skin was beautiful, though ─ a burnt sepia color that glowed against the darkness of the natural ashy falling into the room. White, jagged lines traced their way from the man’s right temple, plummeting diagonally. The scar, which nearly resembled the shape of a lightning bolt, fell across his right eyelid, continuing all the way across the bridge of his nose and onto his left cheekbone. Waves upon waves of thick black hair sat atop his head, curling just above his ears. Behind thin, circular, wire-rimmed glasses sat glowing eyes, embodying the color of a deep forest. As Draco took in the stranger, looking him up and down, a swell of something unfamiliar rose in his brittle chest ─ something he didn’t like.

As Draco stood up, not moving his eyes away from the man, Narcissa grinned, gesturing towards him. “Draco, darling, this is Harry Potter, and he’s─”

Before Draco realized what he was doing, he felt the knuckles of his right hand collide with Harry’s nose, an ugly crack filling the air. He gingerly pulled his hand away, warm crimson blood staining his shell-colored skin. Looking up, he watched as Harry grasped his nose, groaning. Blood seeped through the cracks in his fingers, drops splattering to the ground.

“Merlin, Draco!” Narcissa screeched, leading Harry to the couch.

He sat down, leaning his head back as he pinched his nose with a groan.

Harry let out a dry laugh, wiping some of the blood away with a handkerchief Narcissa had handed him. “Gee, great to see you too, Malfoy.”

Draco blanched, sinking into a black leather chair that sat across from the couch. He folded into himself as much as he could, watching his mother tend to the stranger who was, apparently, not one at all.

“Harry Potter. Who are you, again?” Draco found himself asking skeptically, his face resuming its hard, critical lines.

Harry tilted his head forward, looking directly at him, an emotion behind his eyes that Draco couldn’t pinpoint. “You really don’t know who I am?”

Draco shook his head.

Harry let out a sigh, giving his face another wipe with the handkerchief as he looked at Narcissa. “Merlin, you weren’t kidding when you said he remembered nothing.”

“I’m right here, you know. I’d appreciate it if you actually talked to me instead of ignoring my presence,” Draco snapped, irritation bubbling through his veins.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise but he shifted his gaze towards Draco, nonetheless. “Fine, Malfoy. Is that better?”

Draco glowered in response.

“Great. Well, to start, I’m Harry Potter. We went to school together. Hogwarts. Do you remember school?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I do, but I don’t remember you being there. I just remember Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo. Please don’t tell me we were friends,” Draco said crossly.

Narcissa lightly cleared her throat as she sat down on the couch. “Draco, be polite.”

Harry let out a huff of hot hair through his nose. “Friends? No, fortunately. We hated each other.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, you have no memory of the war that just happened either, then? Or Voldemort?” Harry asked.

At the mention of that name, Draco could see his mother visibly sway, her face twisting into something resentful.

Draco frowned. “No. I don’t remember any war and I certainly don’t remember this man that you and my mother keep referring to. What’s so special about him?”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, looking to Narcissa for guidance. “Uh, well …”

“Well,” Narcissa picked up, taking over for a clearly uncomfortable Harry, “the Dark Lord was someone that your father and I have been very loyal to for years - decades, even. Your father was more enthusiastic about the eradication of anyone who wasn’t Pureblood than I was, but I was just as involved. Anyway, the Dark Lord waged a full out war over Britain, as he wanted to kill anyone who wasn’t a Pureblood witch or wizard. That was what we lost two nights ago. Harry, well, he killed the Dark Lord. The battle took place at Hogwarts, your school. We were there, darling, during the battle, and I’m wondering if you were hit with a memory charm.”

“Either that or he has a concussion,” Harry added.

Narcissa nodded. “Yes, could be. Anyway, Draco, the entire story will take a while to tell and I don’t know if you want to go over everything right now. I just asked Mr. Potter over because with your father gone, I had no one else to turn to. He has kindly agreed to help me seek an answer for what’s happened to you.”

“What could he possibly offer, Mother? Can’t we figure it out by ourselves?” Draco asked, anger swelling in his lungs. He was perfectly happy for Harry to remain a stranger.

“Draco, darling. This is bigger than the both of us. The fact that you can’t remember the Dark Lord, as well as all of the turmoil that’s been building over your entire career at Hogwarts, is frankly alarming, and I can’t help you on my own. I trust Mr. Potter and I expect you to do the same.”

“Fine.”

“Actually, Mrs. Malfoy, I was wondering if I could search through your library. I’m wondering if we’ll be able to find anything there on what happened,” Harry butted in.

“Ah, excellent idea. Draco, why don’t you lead Mr. Potter to the library while I get started on dinner. Mr. Potter, please say you’ll dine with us this evening,” Narcissa said.

“I would love to. Thank you,” Harry said, standing up with a groan.

There was an uncomfortable amount of dried blood crusting on Harry's upper lip, and Draco grimaced.

“Follow me, Potter,” he said dully, dread forming a knot in the pit of his stomach as he led the two of them out of the sitting room and in the direction of the library.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco pushed the door open into the large library that sat behind the kitchen. Hazy gray light filtered in through the wide windows, which gave a view of the extensive back garden. Trimmed hedges lined the perimeter and in the middle of the courtyard sat a large fountain. Lucius’ collection of albino peacocks roamed around, pecking at the ground.

“So, this is the library─” Draco began.

“Draco,” Harry said in a serious tone, “Draco, look at me.”

He turned around to face Harry, whose face had fallen. “What, Potter?”

“You really don’t remember anything?” Harry asked, wringing his hands.

“No, you dimwit, I already told you─”

“We were dating,” Harry blurted, his eyes filling with tears. “We were dating. Hell, we _are_ dating. We’ve been together since the end of 6th year and no one knows.”

Draco’s chest began to twist and his stomach lurched. “I beg your pardon?”

Harry wandered over to a chair that sat in the corner, letting out a weary sigh. “We got together after you failed to kill Dumbledore. Do you remember that?”

Draco shook his head.

“Right. Well, basically, Voldemort instructed you to kill Dumbledore, the headmaster. You couldn’t go through with it, though. I found you afterwards … You were sobbing in the bathroom. I was crying, too. We talked for a while, and then, well, we kissed. I wasn’t at Hogwarts for our 7th year. I was hunting down Horcruxes, a Dark magic that Voldemort was using to preserve his soul so we didn’t get to see each other. I occasionally got a letter from you, but that was it. Then, I was captured here at the Manor with Ron and Hermione, so I saw you then. We weren’t able to talk, though. This is really the first time we’ve been alone in over a year … I can’t believe you don’t remember,” Harry whispered, his voice cracking.

Draco backed away, his heart racing. “No, no bloody way. You and I are not dating. You said it yourself ─ we hated each other at school.”

“If you don’t remember me, then why do you hate me so much?” Harry asked softly.

“You’re a very unlikeable person. That, and you’re lying to my face.”

“Merlin, Draco, I’m not lying!” Harry shouted, pacing.

“Shut up! Shut up! I don’t want to hear another word of this!” Draco screamed, his cheeks going hot.

“You won’t believe me? Fine. Whatever. You’re just going to make things harder for yourself. Denying the truth is only going to cause whatever’s going on with your memory to get worse,” Harry said, anger dripping from his voice.

“I don’t know why the hell I would believe you in the first place, Potter,” Draco spat back, crossing his arms.

Harry wiped his running nose, which was mingling with the dried blood, on the back of his sleeve. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to get your memory back and you’re going to remember us if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Highly unlikely, Potter. If you’re so keen on helping me, then why don’t you be useful and start going through the bloody books?” Draco said, anger coursing through his veins.

“Fine,” Harry said.

He sniffled, stood up, and disappeared into the large collection of bookcases filled with information on Dark curses, hexes, and jinxes. Draco sat on the couch next to the window, staring at a peacock.

He tried to wrap his muddled mind around what Harry had said. From what both he and his mother had told him, the idea of the two of them dating didn’t sit well. However, the more Draco thought about it, the more he doubted himself. Perhaps love was the thing that he had seen behind Harry’s eyes when he first walked in. The thing was, it didn’t make sense. They had been on opposite sides, and there was no way that Draco would’ve betrayed his family like that.

He could freely admit that Harry was a handsome enough man, and yet the idea of loving him … Draco shook his head. Even if Harry was right ─ even if he was telling the truth ─ that didn’t mean that it would’ve lasted.

After an hour of silent contemplation, Harry walked out from behind a bookshelf, a thick book in his hand. He sat down on the chair and began to gingerly turn the worn pages.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

Harry looked up, emotion absent from his face. “It’s a book on memory charms. I’m trying to find something that will explain your selective memory loss.”

“Oh.”

Draco slowly stood up, attempting to get his bearings before he began to wander through the bookshelves. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, especially since his head hurt far too much to read. However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t admire the elegant spines of the books ─ something he had always loved to do.

The hours that whispered by weren’t menacing. Instead, they brought relief to Draco. As night fell, he took comfort in knowing that he could go to bed soon.

At seven o’clock, Narcissa peeked her head through the door and into the library. “Draco? Mr. Potter? Dinner is ready.”

Draco stood up from where he was sitting on the ground, back propped against a bookshelf, and wandered unsteadily towards the door. Harry followed wordlessly, clutching the same book. They walked in silence to the long dining table, which was made of black walnut, and sat opposite each other. The table was laid with steaming platters of roasted salmon and vegetables, and a line of baked potatoes sat on a rack. Narcissa sat next to Draco, smoothing out her robes as she did so.

“Please, help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the table. “Also, have you managed to find anything yet?”

Harry began to dish food onto his plate. “I found a book that might be helpful. It’s on memory charms. I’ve read about a quarter of it. So far, nothing has jumped out at me in terms of similarities. I think the key is finding a charm that deals with selective memory loss, since Malfoy hasn’t lost everything.”

Narcissa nodded. “Very well. I’d like to invite you back tomorrow, if that’s alright with you. The sooner we get this all sorted, the better.”

“Mother, we have the book. I really don’t think it’s necessary for him to-”

“Draco,” Narcissa said sharply, “we’ve been over this. We need Mr. Potter’s help. It’s obvious that you can still feel the animosity that was between you two for so many years, but you’ve got to let go of that, darling. Mr. Potter is the only person willing to help us right now, and we need to be thankful that he’s taking the time to help figure out what’s happened to you.”

Draco nodded thickly, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, since we’re all here, do you want to ask any questions about the war or the Dark Lord?” Narcissa asked, taking a bite of broccoli.

Draco’s face screwed up in thought. “I just want to know everything, to be honest.”

“Alright. I suppose the beginning is a good place to start. The Dark Lord began rising to power between the late 60’s and early 70’s. As you know, we’re a Pureblood family. The Dark Lord believed that only Purebloods were worthy and superior. The war came to a head in the early 80’s, and he actually killed Mr. Potter’s parents. However, when he tried to kill Mr. Potter, he was injured and disappeared. Mr. Potter became renowned for defeating the Dark Lord. Years passed by, and there was no sign of the Dark Lord - not until right before your first year at Hogwarts. Since then, tension started building. The Dark Lord continued to grow stronger, and a war began to wage within the last year. Things got very bad and hundreds were killed at a time. And, well, I’ve already told you about the Battle of Hogwarts and the Dark Lord’s death. This is all just a brief summary, darling, and I’m sure more details will unfold over time,” Narcissa said.

Draco nodded. “Potter mentioned something about … Killing Dumbledore. I remember him but I don’t remember having to kill him."

Narcissa sighed, leaning back in her chair. “This is true. As your father was one of his most trusted followers, the Dark Lord approached him with a task. You were to kill Dumbledore, and if you failed, you yourself were to die. I went behind the Dark Lord’s back and asked Severus if he would kill Dumbledore in case you failed. He agreed and we made an unbreakable vow. When the time came, you weren’t able to do it and Severus carried through on his promise. He killed Dumbledore instead of you, but the situation still took a toll on you. You didn’t come out of your room that entire summer.”

“Merlin,” Draco whispered hoarsely.

As things continued to unfurl, he became increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of this life that he had no memory of.

“I know this must be overwhelming, Draco. We’re here to help you, though,” Narcissa said.

“By the way, what time would you like me to come over tomorrow?” Harry asked.

Narcissa looked to Draco, who shrugged. “How about one o’clock? I have to run some errands so I’ll be gone for the afternoon, but I’ll have tea ready for you when you get here.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

A blanket of silence fell over the table, no one quite sure what to say. Draco kept stealing glimpses at Harry, who wasn’t looking at anyone or anything in particular. Instead, he was pushing around the food on his plate. Draco’s stomach clenched at the solemn look on his face. He was clearly in pain, but Draco reminded himself that it wasn’t his problem.

The night ended relatively early, Harry only staying long enough to eat dinner. Once everyone had finished, they all concluded that it was time to get some rest.

Draco and Narcissa walked Harry to the foyer, where he grabbed his raincoat. A soft rain had begun outside, the gentle lull, pitter-pattering against the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

“Alright. I’ll be back here at one tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll be able to make some more progress,” Harry said.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said.

Draco simply nodded at him. Harry nodded back and then disappeared into the wet night.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco found himself pacing the length of his room just after midnight, silver moonlight streaking in through his bedroom window. The air was cool and fresh with the smell of rain, which seeped into the damp grounds of Malfoy Manor. Off in the distance, Draco could hear the soft chirping of the owls that rested in the treeline that lined the property, calling out into the restless night.

“Fuck!” Draco burst out, kicking the frame of his bed. He ran his shaking hands through his messy hair, feeling as though his body was vibrating.

His mother had kept him downstairs until a quarter to twelve, occupying him with idle chatter. Draco had a hunch that it had less to do with his memory and more to do with his mother missing his father. She had spent hours telling him stories going back to when he was a child, specifically lingering on the memory of Draco’s first year at Hogwarts. They both danced around the topic of Harry, instead reminiscing on the things Draco could remember, like the Halloween Feast and Christmas holidays.

Now, back in his room, he finally had time to think. Thoughts of Harry prodded his mind and he turned them over until they began to disintegrate. Something kept bothering him, though. Perhaps Harry had a point. If he couldn’t even remember Harry, then why did he hate him so much?

The thought of that man with his stupid face, and his stupid lies, and his stupid─

Draco paused. He needed answers and he needed them now. He sat down at his desk, taking out a few pieces of parchment from inside a drawer. Once he dipped his favorite quill in the ink pot, he got to writing.

_Potter,_

_I keep thinking about what you disclosed to me earlier today. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I have questions and I need answers. I don’t know if I believe you or not - my mother clearly does, although I’m not sure why. All I know is that I’m not going to be able to rest until I find out what all of this is about. I need my memory back._

_Here are all of the questions I can think of right now:_

  * _Why does my mother trust you so much?_
  * _What is this large, bizarre mark on my inner left forearm?_
  * _Why should I believe you about us dating?_
  * _Do you love me?_
  * _Did I love you?_
  * _What’s the story of us?_



_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

Satisfied, Draco sealed the envelope, scrawling out Harry’s name in neat, loopy letters on the front. Once done, he cracked his bedroom door open. The house was dark, meaning that his mother had gone to bed. Slowly, he crept down the stairs, winding his way through a multitude of big, empty rooms and out into the back garden.

The shimmering moon was nearly full, sunken into the deep darkness of the black velvet sky. Slivers of clouds drifted across patches of stars, winking down at him. The garden glowed with moonlight, a silver veil illuminating a large bed of roses and neat, trimmed hedges that surrounded the fountain.

Draco walked along the path that led to the outskirts of the garden. Before him stood a long line of pine trees, their silhouettes disappearing into the night. He paused at the base of a trunk and looked up through the branches, spotting bright black eyes towards the crest of the tree.

“Artemis,” Draco whispered softly, his voice carried away with the gentle breeze that was rolling over him.

A small barn owl with sleek, tawny feathers fluttered down to Draco, perching on his forearm. Her claws dug slightly into the mark that Draco bore, drawing a slight amount of crimson blood.

“Please take this to Harry Potter. I believe my mother mentioned that he lives at 12 Grimmauld Place,” Draco instructed, putting the letter into Artemis’ beak.

Without warning, she took off into the midnight sky.

Draco wandered back inside, careful to avoid the floorboard that creaked at the base of the staircase. The black obsidian was cold against his feet, sending a chill up his body as he climbed the stairs. Once he reached his room, he sank back to bed, the headboard’s ornately carved serpent pattern looming above him.

No matter how hard he tried, sleep didn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring vacantly, watching the moonlight dance on his ceiling. It wasn’t until two hours later that Draco, whose eyes were burning from a lack of sleep, heard a soft rapping on his window. He padded to the window and was met with Artemis, who was clutching a thick envelope in her beak. He opened the window, stroked her, and then sent her on her way.

Perching on the edge of his bed, he stared at the envelope in his trembling hands. Harry’s chicken scratch handwriting was scrawled across the front, and he traced it with the pads of his fingers. His name had been written by a stranger - someone who possibly loved him.

Before he could lose his nerve, he tore open the envelope.

_Draco,_

_I was surprised to get a letter from you, to be honest. I don’t quite know what to make of it. I suppose my heart is excited, but I have to remind myself that you aren’t you without your memories. In your mind, we never existed and that’s a hard concept to wrap my mind around._

_I guess I’ll go in order of your questions. Narcissa and I have a very unusual relationship, you could say. To summarize, she saved my life at the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort had tried to kill me and I was feigning dead. Narcissa was the one to check if I was dead or not, and she noticed that I was still breathing. In exchange for letting her know that you were alright, she told Voldemort that I was dead. She single handedly saved me and, therefore, the future of the wizarding world. I largely don’t agree with everything that your family did, but I do realize that Narcissa was not the driving force - it was your father. I do find that I have sympathy towards her. I think she was just trying to protect you all along and I can respect that._

_As for the mark on your arm … that’s a big one. I guess there’s not really any beating around the bush for this one. It’s called a Dark Mark and every one of Voldemort’s followers has one. It was a symbol of loyalty and dedication to his cause. You were initiated as an official follower in 6th year, and that’s when you got your mark. From what I understand, the mark itself holds some pretty Dark magic, although I don’t know how that will affect you._

_As for why you should believe me about us dating, I don’t really have a solid answer. All I know is that what was between us was real, and that’s the best I can do. It’s up to you whether you believe me or not._

_Yes, I do love you. I always have, I think. There's just something about you, Draco, and I love you with every piece of me._

_I like to think that you loved me, too. You certainly said that you did. I suppose that means very little now, doesn’t it?_

_The story of us. Now that’s an interesting one. I guess you could say that our story is more complex than most, in that we spent so many years hating each other. You were a pompous git in school and I was a boy who was being stretched far too thin. We didn’t understand each other and I think that was where we went wrong. As you know, it wasn’t until the very end of 6th year that we got together. Several nights after Dumbledore died, which was the same night as our first kiss, you managed to sneak out of the Manor. We met in a town halfway between there and Grimmauld Place and we continued to do so until Ron, Hermione, and I left to hunt Horcruxes. In all honesty, you were my driving force all throughout 7th year, all the way up to the battle. You still are, I suppose. I wholeheartedly believe that I fought so hard not just because it was the right thing to do, but because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind._

_Long story short, our love was raw, and it was ugly, and it wasn’t always easy. That’s what made it so perfect, though. It fit us. We were intertwined._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Draco stared at the page, a swell of some deep, uncomfortable emotion building in his chest. He quickly walked over to his desk, jotting down a note on a piece of parchment.

_Potter,_

_I believe you._


	5. Chapter 5

The following day, Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor at promptly one o’clock. Draco was the one to answer the door as his mother had already left for Diagon Alley. As soon as Draco set eyes on Harry, something twisted inside his chest ─ a pain of sorts. He frowned, causing Harry’s own face to fall.

“Come on in,” Draco said, stepping aside so that Harry could step into the foyer.

“Thanks. Is Narcissa already gone?” Harry asked, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Yes. It’s just the two of us. Do you want some tea?” Draco asked politely, and Harry nodded.

They wandered to the long dining table, settling in across from one another. A platter filled with biscuits and tea cakes, as well as a porcelain teapot, sat in between them. After serving themselves, a heavy silence fell between the two of them. Harry took a large sip of tea and cleared his throat.

“So, about last night─”

Draco’s eyes snapped up. “Those letters don’t change anything, Potter. I don’t love you.”

Harry swallowed thickly, looking down at his plate. “That’s fine.”

“Good,” Draco sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he poked at a tea cake with his fork, combing small layers of crumbs off of the side. Draco watched him intently, wondering what he was thinking about.

“I don’t have to help you, you know. I can leave if you want,” Harry muttered, averting his eyes.

Draco sighed. “Potter, I clearly need your help in trying to figure out what the bloody hell is wrong with my memory. I just … I can’t deal with you moping after me.”

Harry set down his fork with a loud thud and his green eyes were hard. “Moping after you? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I mean, you do look like a kicked puppy,” Draco said, satisfaction settling into his stomach at the look of anger on Harry’s face.

No matter how hard he tried, anger was all that seemed to come up for him when he looked at Potter, and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

“You know nothing about what I’m feeling, Draco. You’re just an unsympathetic arsehole who can’t wrap his mind around the fact that someone actually loved you for once in your sorry, pathetic life,” Harry spat, angry tears spilling over.

“Fuck off. I didn’t ask for your love,” Draco shouted, standing up.

Harry followed, letting out a dry laugh. “You’re right. You didn’t ask for it, but you accepted it. You loved being loved by me. You fucking craved it.”

“I highly doubt that, Potter,” Draco spat.

“You don’t remember, Draco, so you can’t tell me what you felt at the time!” Harry screamed, letting out a broken sob. “You don’t know what our love was like. It was imperfect beyond measure, but it was ours and ours alone. No matter how fucked up the world was, it couldn’t touch what we had and it’s not my fault if you can’t wrap your mind around that.”

Draco stared at him. “Whatever. I don’t even know why this matters so much. It clearly wasn’t going to last, anyway.”

Harry’s breaths were coming in rapid waves but he continued to yell through his sobs. “Draco, I’m fucking mourning you. I’m mourning you as if you were dead, but you’re standing right in front of me. Do you know how fucked up it is to mourn someone who’s alive? I never stopped thinking about you during 7th year, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw you again in the Manor over Easter holidays. I thought it was a miracle. We didn’t get to talk but just seeing your face filled me with peace. And Merlin, when I saw you at the battle, I knew everything was going to be okay. And then this fucking happened. I can’t imagine life without you, you fucking dick.”

Draco’s mouth turned into a fine line. “Get out of my house.”

Harry stared at him hard, wiping a tear that was rolling down his cheek. “Fine.”

Draco watched Harry disappear through the front door, slamming it shut with a sharp bang. Draco winced at the sound before crumpling to the ground, his head collapsing into his hands. He heaved a heavy sob, his breath coming in quick gasps.

He wasn’t crying because of Harry ─ he didn’t think he was, anyway. It was more the fact that there was a life out there, belonging to him, that he had no grasp on. He was a stranger to himself. The cuts, bruises, scars, and marking on his broken body were foreign, making him unrecognizable. He was clearly not the person he thought he was.

He stayed on the ground for twenty minutes before finding the energy to get up, heading to the kitchen. There, he stared at the knife holder sitting on the pristine counter. Without warning, he picked up the smallest, sharpest knife and held it up to the Dark Mark that was bleeding into the thin skin of his inner left forearm. He took a deep breath before sliding the blade across the serpent’s head. The skull let out an angry, audible hiss, its empty eye sockets burning a deep red. Despite the magic in the marking sending protests, Draco continued to cut himself, slashing his skin in criss crosses. Crimson blood bloomed in pools, trickling down his wrist in thick ribbons. By the time he was done, the Dark Mark was unrecognizable. He looked down at his handy work, his teeth clenched from the pain, and smiled at the mauled patch of skin.

Letting out a large sigh of relief, he rinsed the knife off in the kitchen sink. Warm, bright afternoon light streamed in through the window, glinting off of the silver blade as blood ran into the drain. The thick air smelled of copper and tears.

Content with his clean up job, Draco wandered upstairs to his bedroom. Upon arriving, he collapsed into his bed. He closed his eyes, willing himself to forget everything for a while.


	6. Chapter 6

_Draco,_

_I’m sorry. I won’t come around again. It’s clear that my being there is only hurting you further and that’s the last thing I want._

_Harry_

Draco stared at the note in his hand, the parchment trembling with his shaking fingers. He felt sick, both from the pain shooting up his arm and Harry’s words. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t truly want Harry to go. Sure, he despised the man, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to figure out his memory loss without him. Harry, he realized, was the only person who could provide him with some semblance of who he truly used to be.

Quickly, he scrawled out a note.

_Potter,_

_Don’t be overdramatic. We had a little tiff - that’s all. Come to the Manor around five this evening._

_Draco_

Pleased, Draco sent the letter off and then headed back to his room. Pale morning light fell in through his open window, casting shadows on his duvet. He sat down with a long sigh, frowning down at his arm. Deep red slashes burned across his skin, distorting the face of the skull and the shape of the serpent. Bruises the color of rotten plums bloomed around the deep cuts, some of which were beginning to scab over.

Pulling on a crisp navy collared shirt and tucking it into black trousers, he gave himself a once over, making sure that his sleeve was covering his wound. Walking out of his room, he leaned over the banister, watching his mother pace across the foyer. Her long, sweeping emerald robes whipped behind her and the sound of her heels against the wooden floor echoed in Draco’s ears.

“Mother? Is everything alright?” Draco called out, breaking the hard silence that filled the house.

Narcissa, startled, snapped her head up to look at him. Draco noted that she looked wearier than usual, dark circles resting under her tired eyes.

“I think I may have found the solution, as well as why this all started in the first place,” Narcissa admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Draco paused, his breath coming to an abrupt halt. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Narcissa began, resuming her pacing, “that I think I’ve found a spell that will fix your memory. It’s complicated, but I think we can do it tonight.”

All of the color drained from Draco’s already pale face. “You … Found the solution.”

“That’s correct, darling. By the way, do you know what time Harry is getting here today?” Narcissa asked, fidgeting with her hands as Draco walked down the stairs.

“Um,” Draco began, meeting her at the base of the steps, “we had a minor disagreement yesterday. I wrote him to meet us here at five, though. I haven’t gotten a response yet.”

Sauntering into the sitting room, Narcissa collapsed onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

“Draco, darling, now isn’t the time to get into arguments with Harry. I know you can’t stand him. You never have. I suppose that’s one good thing ─ your reaction to him is consistent, despite you not remembering him. Anyway, I need you to try to be on your best behavior.”

Draco, sinking into a cushion next to her, mumbled, “I know, Mother. It’s difficult sometimes. His face is just so … Infuriating.”

Naricssa stroked the hair above the nape of Draco’s neck. “I realize that, darling, but you cannot let your feelings get in the way of this. We need a third person to help with this spell tonight and he’s the only one we can trust. After all of this is fixed, you don’t have to see him again.”

"Mother,” Draco asked, a quizzical look crossing his face, “what exactly did you find out about my memory? And what is this spell?”

“Well, I believe you were hit with a very rare spell, which causes selective memory loss. It’s a cousin to memory charms. Very Dark magic. Someone must have been very keen on erasing your memory of the war, although I’m not sure why. As for the spell needed to fix your memory … It’s going to hurt, Draco. Harry and I will need to tie you down.”

Draco swallowed thickly. “Right.”

The hours passed slowly, each second trickling by with an aching agony. Draco stared at the clock that ticked against the mantle of the fireplace in the sitting room, listening to each click of the hands. Little was said between Draco and his mother, both of them overtly aware of the unpleasant evening that was approaching.

At five o’clock, there was a loud knock on the front door. Narcissa shot up, walking quickly out of the sitting room and into the foyer. Draco stood, pacing ─ a habit he had inherited from his mother.

Harry walked into the room. He looked the same, albeit a bit sadder than usual. Draco noticed that his knuckles were raw and he wondered what it was from.

“How are things?” Harry asked, about to settle into the couch.

“Don’t sit down, Mr. Potter. We don’t have a moment to lose. I believe I’ve found the spell that Draco was hit with, as well as the spell that’s needed to reverse it."

Harry’s jaw dropped slightly. “Merlin, alright. What caused it and what do we need to do?”

Narcissa spent the next ten minutes explaining what she had told Draco, along with further information that she had waited to share. By the time Harry was caught up, Draco felt sick. Apparently, the spell that was to be cast on him was known for wreaking havoc on one’s body.

When Narcissa was finished with her explanation, she led them into the large drawing room that sat towards the front of the Manor. The room was cold and the air was stiff, as they hadn’t used the room in quite some time. Particles of dust floated through the air, glimpses of golden light from outside catching on them. Narcissa brought the fireplace to life with a wordless flick of her wand, sending the room into an orange glow. On the coffee table that sat in front of an expensive couch laid a thick, worn book. It was open to pages showing a reversal spell. Draco gulped. At that point, he noticed a hard dining room chair that had been moved into the room, next to the couch.

“Alright, Mr. Potter─”

“Please, call me Harry.”

“Okay, Harry. I’m going to bind Draco to this chair here. Your job is going to be to physically reinforce the bind while I read out the spell. How does that sound?”

Harry nodded slowly. “I can do that.”

“Excellent. Draco, are you ready?” Narcissa asked, looking at him through watery eyes.

“I suppose so,” Draco said softly, sauntering over to the chair.

As he sat down on the hard seat, he let out a nervous sigh. His heart felt as though it was beating into his lungs.

Narcissa said the incantation for the binding spell and Draco watched as thick, transparent ropes wrapped around his body, twisting in knots around the chair.

“Harry, if you’ll take the ends of these ropes and hold onto them,” Narcissa instructed, handing him the remaining rope that was left.

Harry stood behind Draco, holding them tautly.

“Draco,” Narcissa whispered, placing a light kiss on his forehead, “it’s going to be okay. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mother.”

Then, the pain began ─ an excruciating burning that spread from the inside out. A wildfire scorched his organs, making its way up his throat. He screamed, but no sound came out. As he struggled violently against the ropes, he vaguely registered his mother’s voice repeating the spell over and over again. His head pounded, feeling like it was going to implode. Beads of sweat collected on his skin and hot, scorching tears spilled out of his eyes. His bones began to snap, the ligaments stretching beyond return.

Then, nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

When Draco came to, he was in a bed that wasn’t his own. The sheets were scratchy and the pillow stiff, causing a deep ache in his neck. He tried to sit up but pain shot through his abdomen. He resumed the position on his back, panting from the hurt spreading through his body.

“Draco, darling, you need to stay still.”

He turned his head in the direction of his mother’s voice, and saw her sitting in a chair next to his bed. Her eyes were red-rimmed, looking as though she had been crying.

“Where am I? What’s wrong with me?” Draco asked hoarsely, his eyes flicking around the white, sterile room.

“St. Mungo’s. Harry’s also here ─ he’s in the bed next to you. There was … an accident,” Narcissa murmured, averting her eyes.

Draco tried to sit up once more, wincing as the scorching pain returned. “What do you mean by accident?”

“Oh, Draco. My darling. I never meant for anything bad to happen. The spell … it went terribly wrong somewhere. You’re bleeding internally, and your mediwizard informed me that the medication used to stop it is incredibly painful, which is what you’re feeling. Draco, do you still not remember the war?” Narcissa asked meekly. 

Concentrating, Draco thought back to his years at Hogwarts. He remembered being told about the war but he couldn’t actually remember living through it.

“No. I don’t think the spell did anything.”

Narcissa nodded slowly. “Alright. Draco … There’s something I need to tell you. You see, when I was performing the spell, I must have said some of the words incorrectly. What’s happened is … Well … I’ve accidentally bonded you and Harry together.”

Draco swallowed thickly, resisting the urge to sit bolt upright. “You what?”

“I,” Narcissa began, fidgeting with a perfectly manicured cuticle, “bonded you and Harry, and it’s going to be very difficult to fix.”

“Bonded? What does bonded mean?” Draco asked, his heart pounding.

Narcissa let out a heavy sigh. “It means that you and Harry are magically tied to one another. This tie … you won’t be able to be in separate rooms. The magic won’t let you. It’s purpose is to keep you physically close. The father away you are … well, the more it will hurt. You’re going to need to live together in order to survive this thing.”

Draco gasped for air, hot tears staining his cheeks. “I can’t live with him. I won’t.”

Narcissa grabbed his hand, clutching it tight. “You have to, Draco. You have no other choice. We’re going to find a solution, though. I promise.”

“Merlin, how long is this going to take?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know, darling. It’s impossible to say. The mediwizard assured me that he and his team of staff will be working tirelessly to fix this mess. It’s going to be alright,” Narcissa said, rubbing her eyes.

Suddenly, Draco’s mind turned to Harry. The idea of living with this man ─ this stranger ─ hit him fully. Harry was someone he, in another life, had experienced a relationship with and the fact that he would be living with him became increasingly more uncomfortable, the more he thought about it. And, not only were they to be simply living together, but they apparently couldn’t be in different rooms. That in itself was going to make this impossible. He wouldn’t be surprised if he murdered Harry before they found the solution to the bond. 

“Draco?”

He looked up to find his mother’s solemn eyes boring into him. 

“Sorry, Mother. I just … I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” Draco said, his voice cracking.

“I know, darling. I know.”

Draco could hear the light footsteps of someone approaching his bed. Without warning, a mediwizard was standing over him. Draco flinched, trying to scoot away but failing. 

The mediwizard pushed up her glasses. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I’m Genevieve Harlowe, and I’ll be your mediwizard. Healing your internal bleeding is not a pleasant process, although it should be complete by this afternoon. I take it your mother has caught you up on everything?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. You and Mr. Potter are both going to be discharged this evening, so there are some ground rules I need to cover,” Harlowe said.

Slowly turning his head, Draco could see Harry, who was sitting up with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked horrible: bruised eyes, a swollen lip, and an arm that was sticking out at an odd angle. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Harlowe said, pulling up a chair and sitting in it, “we have some things we need to go over before I release you this evening. You are not allowed to be more than six feet apart. If you exceed this limit, your body will begin to feel as though it’s being ripped apart. Nasty business. Now, is there a neutral place where you can live together without interruptions?”

Harry cleared his throat. “My place, maybe?”

Draco’s insides twisted into a hard knot. “No way am I moving in with you to your house, Potter.”

“Now, now. Mr. Malfoy. I’m going to need you to cooperate. Do you live alone, Mr. Potter?” Harlowe asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Excellent. I think that would be a very wise decision then, as there would be no one there to interfere.” 

Although it wasn’t mentioned, it was very clear that the mediwizard was referring to Narcissa, who was standing awkwardly in the corner.

“Okay. We can move there first thing,” Harry said.

“Perfect. Although I’ve never seen this particular bond before, something to be aware of is that emotions are likely to be running high. It’s not unusual for bonded pairs to experience stronger emotions as well as various degrees of mood swings. You will have to put in a conscious effort to be patient with each other. This will not be an easy feat to overcome but we all need to promise to do our part in finding the solution,” Harlowe explained.

“Right,” Harry sighed.

Draco looked at him and he looked back, both of their faces lined with pained expressions. It was going to be a long day.


	8. Chapter 8

“So,” Harry began, unlocking the door to 12 Grimmauld Place, “this is, uh, my home.”

Draco gingerly stepped into the house, lugging a large trunk that he had quickly stuffed with all of his necessities from the Manor. Fading black and gray damask wallpaper clung to the wide walls of the foyer and a white crystal chandelier hung limply from the tall ceiling. Ahead of him stood a sweeping staircase, not unlike his own, that led up to the second story. To his right was the sitting room and to his left was the library. Considering the height and width of the house from the outside, he imagined he would be spending quite some time discovering new rooms.

“How … charming,” Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He set down his trunk, as his body was still aching from the trauma of the spell.

“Yeah. It’s, well … I can understand why Sirius moved out,” Harry said.

Draco furrowed his brow. “Sirius? As in my cousin?”

“Shit,” Harry murmured, running a hand anxiously through his hair, “you don’t know about everything with Sirius. I’ll tell you another time, when we’re both not this exhausted. Uh, I’ll show you our room, I guess.”

Draco nodded stiffly, following Harry up the creaking stairs. The weight of his trunk bit into his insides with every step and he swallowed the lump of pain sitting in the back of his raw throat.

“There used to be a huge portrait of Walburga Black, Sirius’ mom, at the stair’s landing. She would scream awful things to anyone who wasn’t a Pureblood. I removed the painting and burned it as soon as I moved in,” Harry explained, waiting for Draco to reach the landing.

Out of breath, he simply nodded in response.

Harry led him down the hall, passing rooms that were all decorated with curling wallpapers of different shades, varying from beige to black, and ornately carved furniture. At the end of the hall, Harry turned left into a room. Draco followed him.

The room was plainly decorated with a four-poster bed, a desk, a wardrobe, chest drawers, and a nightstand. The walls were plastered with deep green wallpaper, the style of it matching that of the rest of the house. A pile of dirty laundry sat on the desk chair and hangers were sticking out awkwardly from the doors of the wardrobe. The bed was unmade and the sheets were rumpled. Overall, it was an utter mess.

“Well, this is my room. It actually used to be Sirius’. His parents deliberately put up green wallpaper after he was sorted into Gryffindor. Anyway, uh, this is where we’ll be sleeping,” Harry said, frowning.

Draco aggressively crossed his arms, scowling. “I am not sharing a bloody bed with you, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “No, no. You’ve got it wrong. You’re going to take the bed and I’m going to take the floor.”

“Absolutely not. I’m going to sleep on the floor,” Draco huffed.

Harry sighed. “Your injuries from the spell were really serious, Draco. You mightn’t be bleeding internally anymore, but you’re still healing. Please, take the bed.”

“I refuse,” Draco snapped.

“God, you can be so bloody annoying! Fine. Take the floor. I don’t give a fuck,” Harry burst out, his voice louder than Draco had ever heard it go.

“Don’t lie, Potter. We both know you give several fucks,” Draco said.

“This is who you used to be ─ who you were at Hogwarts. You changed when we got together, though. You became softer and I miss that man. He was who I loved. Not some bloody ungrateful arsehole who takes joy in seeing people suffer. So yeah, I care about the old you. But you now? I couldn’t care less,” Harry spat, his voice quivering with anger.

Draco could feel all of the color draining from his face. He felt as though he had just been punched in the gut.

“Fine, Potter. Glad we cleared that up.”

He bolted through the bedroom door, stepping into the hallway. A blistering heat began to crawl up his legs, spreading throughout his body. He could feel his flesh ripping apart, warm blood rippling down his convulsing body as he collapsed to the ground. Somewhere, he could make out the distorted, hazy sounds of Harry yelling after him. Then, everything was quiet.

☙ ☙ ☙

When he came to, his limbs felt like they had been destroyed from the inside out. Blinking slowly, he tried to gather his bearings. It was nighttime. He could tell from the flood of golden light from the lamp in the corner of the room. Then, he remembered.

Potter.

“Potter. Potter!” Draco yelled, sitting up.

He gasped at the wave of pain that rolled through his body. He could feel the wetness of blood blooming across his side, seeping into his shirt.

“Draco? Are you okay?” Harry asked as he stood up, and Draco could see that he had been sleeping on the floor next to the bed.

“Where am I hurt, you dickhead?” Draco asked, groaning as he adjusted himself into a fully upright position, leaning his head against the uncomfortable wooden headboard.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his wavy hair sticking up at odd angles. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose, having presumably been messily put on before he stood up.

“You’re calling me a dickhead? You were the one who nearly blew himself to shit because he decided to ignore the rules we were given by the mediwitch!” Harry huffed.

“Merlin, I know what I did. Just answer the damn question! Where am I hurt?” Draco yelled back.

“Just ─ Just stay still. You’ve got some pretty nasty wounds and I only got them to stop bleeding fully two hours ago,” Harry explained, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“How long have I been out?” Draco asked, wincing.

“About three hours. It’s just after ten o’clock.”

Draco let out a heavy breath, briefly closing his eyes. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

Harry stood up. “Well, you’re more than welcome to go to sleep. Wake me if you start bleeding again.”

With that, Harry stalked to the lamp, turning off the light. Moonlit darkness from the window seeped into the silent room. Draco could hear Harry settle into what must have been a makeshift cot of some sort. Within a few minutes, he could make out the soft sound of snores escaping Harry’s mouth. Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Potter snored.

Biting the inside of his cheek so as to not make a sound, Draco pulled himself out of the sitting position. Rearranging himself, he was finally able to lay on the pillow. With a painful sigh, he closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

When Draco woke early the next morning, it took him several moments to gather his surroundings. Slowly, as he sat up, everything came back to him: the memory loss, the war, the binding, and Harry. 

Harry. Draco looked groggily around the room, searching for him. Finally, his eyes found Harry sitting on his makeshift cot, reading a book by wandlight. He looked as exhausted as Draco felt, plum-colored skin under his eyes and his hair looked even more dishevelled than last night, curls and waves sticking up every which way. 

A groan of pain escaped Draco's mouth as he adjusted himself against the headboard, and Harry looked up, blinking at him. 

“What are you looking at, Potter?” Draco snapped, although his words lacked their usual energy.

Harry sighed, standing up and walking over to him. “How’d you sleep?”

Draco gave the question thought, recalling the previous night. Suddenly, he remembered a dream he’d had, although the memory of it came in choppy flashes - a pale hand, a red light, the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, and a bathroom flooding with blood. He didn’t know what any of it meant but it left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

“Fine,” he said bluntly.

“Draco,” Harry began, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I noticed something last night, but I didn’t want to bring it up just then. I, well … I’ve seen your arm. Did you try to cut the Dark Mark out?”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Before he knew it, Harry was holding him by his left wrist, his inner forearm turned up. The deep, jagged cuts were beginning to close over with crimson scabs, covering the mangled skull and snake. 

“This, Draco. I’m talking about this,” Harry said, a harshness in his eyes.

“Why do you even care, Potter? You made it very clear last night that you don’t care about me if I don’t have my memories,” Draco sneered, snatching his arm away from Harry.

“That’s not what I meant. I just … Merlin, you’re fucking impossible sometimes. Of course I miss the old you ─ he was who I fell in love with ─ but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still love you, or that I don’t care about you. I don’t know how to deal with all of this any better than you do. I’m just trying my best and I want us both to get out of this okay. Now, would you please tell me what happened to your arm?” Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

At the mention of love, Draco winced, his stomach tying itself in knots. “Fine. Yeah. I tried to get rid of it. Happy?”

“You could always ask for help, you know,” Harry murmured, avoiding eye contact.

Draco sighed. “And say what, exactly? ‘Oi, Potter, can you help me remove this mark filled with extremely Dark magic that I have absolutely no memory of getting?’ Is that what you want?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I’d take that.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, Potter. Will you please help me find a way to remove the mark?”

“Absolutely. Now, how about some breakfast?” Harry asked, standing up.

“Sure, except you’re forgetting one minor detail ─ you can’t go out of the room without me,” Draco stated, frowning.

A small grin appeared across Harry’s face. “I’ve already thought about that.”

Without warning, he gingerly lifted Draco into his arms. Draco groaned in pain at the sudden movement, but it quickly dissolved into a dull throb. Wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck to steady himself, his mouth disappeared into a thin line.

“I’m not amused, Potter,” Draco sneered.

Harry, whose eyes were crinkling with amusement, grinned. “I know you aren’t, but I sure am.”

They slowly made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, amber light coming in through the broad window over the sink. Harry helped Draco settle into a chair at the round kitchen table that was pushed into the corner, a fine layer of dust covering the dark wood. Draco sighed, letting his bones sink into a sitting position. Once he was steady, Harry wandered over to the fridge, staring vacantly into its innards. 

“What are you in the mood for? I can make anything, really,” Harry said.

“I don’t know. Something simple, I suppose. Toast?” Draco suggested. “Oh, and tea. I’m in desperate need of tea.”

Harry nodded. “Tea and toast. Coming right up.”

Harry began to go about cutting the loaf of bread that had been resting in a sealed bag on the counter. After swiftly popping the bread into a contraption that Draco had never seen, Harry put the kettle on the stove.

“What the hell is that?” Draco asked, gesturing to the thing on the counter.

Harry let out a soft laugh. “It’s a toaster. Muggles use it to toast bread.”

“Oh,” Draco frowned. 

“By the way, I think we should stop by St. Mungo’s today. A mediwizard should be able to help patch you up from last night,” Harry said.

The idea of moving was rather unappealing but even he could admit that he needed some outside help for the pain. “Fine.”

Suddenly, a popping noise startled Draco, causing him to jump slightly. “What the bloody hell was that?”

Instead of laughing, Harry looked at him with sympathy. “Sorry. Just the toaster letting us know that the toast is done. What do you want on yours?”

“Butter and jam, if you have any,” Draco requested and Harry nodded. 

A few minutes later, Harry brought over a teapot, setting it on top of a hot pad in the middle of the table. Then, he went about bringing over teacups, milk, sugar, and toast for the both of them. After they added the appropriate things to their tea, they began to tuck into their breakfasts.

“This is … Good,” Draco said, having not realized how hungry he was. 

“Agreed,” Harry said through a mouthful of crust.

Quiet fell between them, although it wasn’t as awkward as Draco had imagined it would be. Instead of not knowing what to say, they were both simply concentrating on refuelling their bodies. It was Draco who broke the silence after several minutes.

“Did we ever have sex?” 

Harry, who was in the midst of taking a sip of tea, began to cough. “Um, why?”

Draco shrugged. “It’d be nice to know if I’m still a virgin or not.”

“Right,” Harry said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. “Well, no. We never had sex. Honestly, we didn’t have the time to. You and I had barely begun our relationship before I was off hunting horcruxes. So you’re still a virgin, I suppose.”

Draco processed what he’d been told. “And what about you? Are you a virgin?”

A crimson blush rose to Harry’s cheeks. “I, uh, well … Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Why are you asking, Draco?” Harry asked, a confused look crossing his face. 

“Merlin, Potter. It doesn’t mean anything. I was just asking,” Draco sneered.

Harry held up his hands as though he was surrendering. “Fine. Whatever. Merlin, I don’t know what your problem is but it’s fucking exhausting.”

Draco’s face hardened, his mouth disappearing into a fine line. “Take a look at yourself, Potty. I’m not the only one with issues.”

Harry’s face fell and he absently dropped his piece of toast onto his plate. “Potty. You called me Potty.”

Draco shot him a look. “Yeah? So?”

“That’s what you used to call me in school when we were younger - way back before we started dating,” Harry explained, his eyes wide.

“Oh,” Draco muttered, suddenly very uncomfortable. “I didn’t know that. It just sort of slipped out of my mouth, I guess.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Harry said, although it seemed as though he wanted to say more. 

Instead, they left it at that, both ignoring the one question at hand - was Draco getting his memory back?


	10. Chapter 10

After informing Narcisaa via letter that they were going to St. Mungo’s, Harry gathered up his keys, wallet, and proof of ID. Draco sat, studying him as he frantically made sure he had everything. Concluding that he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry slipped on a coat hanging near the door. Neither of them had changed clothes since the bonding and Draco was quite sure that he was in desperate need of a shower.

“Alright, Draco. Ready?” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco said dryly.

Harry gently picked him up and Draco winced at the pain. He was slightly taller than Harry, so his limbs spilled over awkwardly as they headed towards the fireplace in the sitting room. He squirmed uncomfortably, hating the sensation of being carried ─ especially by Harry.

“Would you stop moving?” Harry sighed.

“As soon as you stop treating me as though I’m this delicate fucking thing,” Draco spat.

“Merlin, fine. Want to walk? You can walk,” Harry muttered, setting Draco back down on the ground before letting go of him completely.

Draco stood up straight, letting out a defiant huff of air as he remained upright without help. However, as soon as he took a step forward, his legs buckled under him. He went crashing to the floor, crumpling into the wooden slats.

“Fuck,” Draco groaned, rolling onto his back.

Harry loomed over him, his hands on his hips.

“Gee, Draco. Wonder how you ended up down there,” Harry said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Would you please shut up and help me?” Draco glowered.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t catch you,” Harry said, smirking.

Draco gritted his teeth. “Potter, please help me up.”

Harry rolled his eyes, gently picking Draco up. Swallowing his frustration, he clutched Harry around his neck to stabilize himself as they walked into the fireplace. Within a minute, they were spinning into black nothingness and landing safely in a fireplace located in St. Mungo’s waiting room.

The bright white lights of the hospital momentarily blinded Draco as Harry led them out of the fireplace and towards the front desk. A wizard with graying hair and crooked glasses looked up with a blank expression.

“Yes?” the man asked, sounding bored. Harry cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.

“Hi. Yes. Um, we’d like to see Mediwitch Harlowe, if she’s available.”

“I’ll let her know you’re here. Please take a sea─”

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter!”

Harry and Draco turned around only to come face to face with Harlowe, who was grinning brightly.

“A pleasure seeing you both. Are you here for an appointment?” Harlowe asked, pushing up her glasses.

“Uh, no, actually─” Harry began, but Draco cut him off.

“No, we’re not. We need to see you, if that’s alright,” Draco said.

Harlowe looked taken aback but she grinned nonetheless. “Of course. Please, follow me to my office.”

As soon as Harry picked him up, Draco scowled. Harlowe gave them an odd look but didn’t say anything as they turned down a hallway that led to her office. She held the door open for them, and Harry settled Draco down on a chair before sitting down himself.

“Alright, then. What can I do for you gentlemen? I don’t believe I had an appointment to see you for another six days,” Harlowe frowned, settling in behind her desk.

“Well,” Harry began, shooting a pointed look towards Draco, “it seems that one of us finds it impossible to follow the rules.”

Harlowe pushed her glasses up. “I see. Mr. Malfoy, is this true?”

Draco let out a huff of angry air. “Yes! Fine! It’s true. I tried to walk away from him, but it’s not my fault! Potter was being an absolute idiot, it was really no wonder that I walked away.”

Harlowe sighed. “I take it you’re injured, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco could feel his cheeks growing red. “… Slightly, perhaps.”

“Slightly, my arse. He can’t walk on his own and he can barely stand up,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Right. Both of you, up. We’re going to the examination room next door. Mr. Malfoy, I’m going to levitate you there, if that’s alright,” Harlowe said.

Draco readily agreed, and he soon felt a weightlessness take hold of his body as he fell into a horizontal position. He hovered at waist-level, steered by Harlowe as she and Harry exited her office and entered the examination room.

“Okay, Mr. Draco, I’m going to set you down on the examination table. Please remain as you are. Also, just a warning that it might be cold,” Harlowe said.

Draco could, indeed, feel that a cold, metal table was sliding in underneath him. Harry sat down in a chair that was situated in the corner of the white room, and he felt grateful for the distance between them.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m going to need to remove your shirt and trousers. Is that alright?” Harlowe asked.

Draco nodded, having not thought of that. For all he knew, Harry was going to have a prime view of his naked body. He swallowed thickly, trying to take a deep breath as Harlowe vanished all but his underwear.

“Dear Merlin,” Harlowe muttered, tracing her cool fingers gently around the area on Draco’s side that was producing the most pain. “I was afraid of this. Mr. Malfoy, it would appear as though when you breached the six-foot limit, your organs came very close to disintegrating on the spot. You’re very lucky you didn’t die. However, I will need to do some extensive healing. I’m going to go fetch a potion and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Harlowe exited the examination room, Harry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you’re here, Draco.”

Although Draco couldn’t see him, he could tell that Harry was frowning. “Oh, don’t be, Potter. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Would it really be so terrible to get along? We used to. I mean, if only for a little while, but still,” Harry said softly.

“You keep forgetting that the person who tolerated you wasn’t me,” Draco spat.

Before Harry could reply, Harlowe reentered the room. Draco couldn't see what she was carrying but he could hear the sloshing of liquid. She closed the door behind her and walked over to him.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy. I’m going to need you to drink this entire vial,” Harlowe instructed, placing a small glass vial in his right hand.

“What is it?” Draco asked, sitting up slightly.

“Think of it as the medicinal version of Draught of Living Death. It will knock you out for as long as I need it to. I do apologize, though ─ it’s quite sour,” Harlowe said.

“Right.”

Draco stared at the vial in his hand. Before he could lose his nerve, he uncorked the vial and dumped the entire contents into his mouth. Harlowe was right - the potion was incredibly sour, and Draco could feel his lips beginning to pucker. Just as he was about to say some sarcastic retort about the taste of the potion, his mind went blank and his head hit the table.

☙ ☙ ☙

_Draco was in a bathroom ─ one he recognized as the 6th floor boy’s bathroom at Hogwarts. Outside, he could hear students screaming, all of them flocking in the direction of the Astronomy Tower._

_He was alone in the bathroom, as far as he could tell. Not knowing what else to do, he took a seat underneath one of the sinks. There was a fear inside his chest that was slowly spreading throughout his body, coursing like venom into his veins. He felt paralyzed, knowing what was coming ─ knowing that death was not on his side. A broken sob left his lungs. Dumbledore was dead, but not because of him. He had, in every sense of the word, failed._

_After thirty minutes, the shouts of students died down and all that Draco could hear was the thin drip of a leaking faucet. He could tell that the sky outside was pitch black, and with each crack of thunder came a tug on his inner left forearm. He looked down at the Dark Mark, which was burning red around the edges, and then back up at the sky outside of the window. Darkness was coming._

_The sudden noise of the bathroom door opening startled him and he pushed himself as far back under the sink as he could get. However, as soon as the person stepped into the bathroom, he recognized who it was._

_Harry approached him slowly, his wand drawn. Draco winced, bracing himself for the inevitable._

_“Malfoy?” Harry asked, gently sitting next to him under the row of sinks._

_Draco looked at Harry, only then realizing that he wasn’t the only one who was crying. Trails of tears stained Harry’s cheeks and his tired eyes were bloodshot._

_“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, although he could hear that his voice lacked its usual venom._

_Harry wiped his running nose with the sleeve of his jumper. “Same as you, I suppose.”_

_“You don’t know why I’m here,” Draco spat._

_Harry smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “I do know, Malfoy. I was there. I heard everything.”_

_A fresh wave of hot tears spilled down Draco’s face. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Potter.”_

_“Malfoy, listen to me. I don’t blame you,” Harry said. “I … I think I understand, now. You don’t believe in any of this - you’re just doing it to go along with your parents and so that Voldemort doesn’t kill you.”_

_Draco’s breath quickened at the mention of the name. “That’s not true, Potter. That’s not true.”_

_Except, he knew it was. He fell, crumpling into Harry’s arms as he let out a heave of piercing sobs. Surprisingly, Harry didn’t pull back. Instead, he held Draco as his own cries of pain escaped his lips. Draco knew that they were crying for different reasons, but, at that moment, it felt very much the same._

_“Malfoy ─ Draco ─ look at me,” Harry said after several minutes had gone by, tilting Draco’s chin up with his trembling hands._

_“What?” Draco asked meekly, his eyes swollen._

_“We can do this ─ you and I. We can get through this together,” Harry said._

_Draco let out a dry laugh. “You and me? Potter, we’ve hated each other for five years. I don’t think that’s going to stop now. Plus … I have to hate you. It’s the only way any of this will work.”_

_Harry’s face fell, but he nodded. “I know I don’t understand what’s going on with you and the situation you’re in, but I think I could help if we worked together. Would it really be so terrible to get along?”_

_Somewhere, Draco felt a sudden wave of déjà vu, but he pushed it aside. “I just don’t know if it’s possible. We sit on two very different sides, Potter.”_

_“Why not give it a go?” Harry asked, his hand still cupping Draco’s chin._

_Before he could answer, Harry was gently pressing their lips together. Draco sighed into the kiss, Potter’s lips warm and chapped. He leaned in closer, entangling his hand in Potter’s soft curls. As wrong as kissing Harry was, it felt utterly right._

_Suddenly, Draco pulled back. “What was that?”_

_Harry smiled gently at him. “A promise. Is that okay?”_

_Draco knew he should say no._

_“Yes.”_

_This time, he was the one to initiate the kiss, letting his fingers trace Harry’s cheek. As their lips met, their tears fell together._


	11. Chapter 11

When Draco woke, he was back in the bedroom at Grimmauld Place. It was nighttime, silver moonlight flooding in through the curtains. He could make out the soft sound of Harry snoring in his cot next to the bed. Realizing he was no longer in pain, Draco rolled onto his side. There, he was able to actually spot Harry, his head drooping to one side and drool spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

Draco stared at him, suddenly remembering that he had dreamt of what could have only been their first kiss. He could still feel the warmth in his chest from Harry’s lips ─ a feeling that he longed to forget. The more he looked at Harry, the more uncomfortable he felt. That memory, or whatever it was, didn’t belong to him. In many ways, he felt violated.

Harry blinked his eyes open, wiping the drool from his face. He stretched before looking at Draco.

“You okay?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Fine,” Draco answered stiffly.

Harry stood up, wandering over to the bed. “How’s your pain? Harlowe said it should be completely gone.”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, it’s gone. How long was I out?”

“Most of the day. It’s around eleven right now. Is there anything I can get you? Food? Water?” Harry asked.

“No, thanks. I think I’d like to try to go back to sleep,” Draco replied shortly.

“Alright.”

Harry headed back towards his cot in the corner of the room and Draco pulled the duvet up under his chin. A swell of loneliness settled over his body as he heard Harry get into his bed. The kiss kept replaying over and over again in his mind. He knew he probably needed to tell Harry but he wasn’t quite ready to face what he had seen.

A silence fell over the room, minutes slowly ticking by. Draco listened to Harry toss and turn, each rustle of his blanket sending a shiver down his spine. After thirty restless minutes, Draco broke the quiet.

“What did you love about me?” he found himself asking, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Harry let out a long sigh. “Everything, Draco. There wasn’t a thing about you that I didn’t love.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Come on, Potter. There surely must have been things you didn’t like about me.”

“Not really. Yeah, you were flawed, but so was I. I think that’s why we worked so well together. We both had a deep understanding of what it was like to be raised as pawns. You know, you would get angry a lot. You’d have these outbursts that would come out of nowhere. I think if it had been anyone else, the anger would have driven me away. The thing was, I got it. I was angry too. Hell, I still am,” Harry explained.

“I don’t understand why that made us work, though. It seems unfathomable, to be honest. I can’t figure out why I loved you,” Draco said bluntly.

A stinging silence filled the air and Draco could hear Harry suck in a bitter breath.

“You couldn’t understand it. Our love was between me and the old you. You’re just a ghost to me now,” Harry whispered softly.

“Can we talk about something else?” Draco muttered.

“You were the one who brought it up,” Harry snapped.

“Whatever,” Draco sighed, closing his eyes.

Time passed slowly, quiet hanging heavy in the air. Eventually, Draco could make out soft snores coming from the corner of the room.

“Sod this,” he whispered to himself, slipping out of bed.

As long as Harry was asleep, he might as well snoop.

Draco crept towards the chest drawers opposite the bed, carefully monitoring Harry who was curled up on his cot. Gingerly opening the top drawer, he began to rifle around. It appeared to be full of nothing but socks. Just as he was about to remove his hand, his fingertips brushed against a pile of what seemed to be paper. He pulled them through the thick layer of socks and quirked his head. There, in his hands, was a short stack of envelopes. He immediately recognized his handwriting scrawled across each front, all of them addressed to Harry. Giving one last look in the direction of the cot, he crawled back into bed.

Once settled, Draco held the first letter in his hand. He took a deep breath, knowing that he had a limited amount of time to get through the letters. Without giving it a second thought, he pulled the worn letter out of the envelope.

_Harry,_

_It’s been exactly one month since we said goodbye. One month since I last held your hand and kissed your lips. One month since I last said I loved you._

_I think about you all the time, but I think of you most whenever the Dark Lord decides that he needs to torture or kill someone. It’s one thing to see the light leave someone’s eyes, but it’s another to have it done in your own home. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’m supposed to want to cross anyone who defies the Dark Lord, and yet I can’t. And so, when it happens, I force myself to remember our first kiss, when you told me everything would be okay. I believed you and I still do, but … it’s hard, Harry. Sometimes I find myself thinking that it would be easier to be dead than go through this._

_My father is keeping a close watch on me. Ever since the thing with Dumbledore, he hasn’t let me out of his sight. I genuinely don’t know how I didn’t get caught sneaking out to see you those few times. I suppose the fact that you gave me the invisible cloak for that short while helped. I feel like I’m suffocating. I want nothing more than to be with you, helping you hunt for Horcruxes. No doubt Granger and the Weasel would have a fit about it. So would my friends, come to think of it. We were never supposed to be together._

_I know we’re only sixteen and we haven’t been together for very long, but I can’t imagine my life without you. Under different circumstances, I would never tell you that. However, I’m beginning to think that I have nothing to lose. I want to live through the war, Harry. I want to meet up at the end of all of this and never look back. Sometimes, at night, I imagine what our wedding would be like. I know, I sound crazy, but I couldn’t give a fuck. There’s this lake I used to go to as a child. On the shore is this tall, looming willow tree and to the left is a wide field of bluebells that seems to go on forever. I always picture us getting married there. It would just be you, me, and the person marrying us._

_I’m not sure if you know how wizard weddings work so I’ll tell you, just in case. There’s always a white ribbon and it's wrapped around each person’s wrist, tied together between them. The people getting married then recite an ancient, old English spell that binds them. I want that with you ─ I desperately want it. I want our souls to be attached by the heart, an invisible string tying the two of us together. I want to have kids with you, although I’m not sure how many. A boy and a girl, maybe. I bet you’d be an incredible father. We would teach our children that Muggles and Muggle-borns aren’t bad, even if it took me a long time to realize that. We’d raise them to be good, kind people and I would never let them see what I’ve seen. Hell, Harry, I want to grow old with you. I want to play with our grandchildren and spend our days sitting in rocking chairs. I just want you._

_I can’t describe how much I miss you. I hurt with every breath I take. I feel like my light has been taken away from me. I know you worry that you’re not good enough for me, but that’s not true. In reality, I’m not good enough for you. There’s not a single thing that I don’t love about you. You are the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known. You care about everyone and you’re not afraid to sacrifice yourself in the process of making the world a better place. Merlin, Harry, you’re just incredible._

_I love you,_

_Draco_

Draco stared down at the letter he clutched in his trembling hands. There really has been a time when he'd loved Harry. It had been real on his side, too. He sighed, closing his eyes as a sentence from the letter floated across his mind.

It would be easier to be dead than go through this.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time Draco woke late the next morning, Harry was already pacing back and forth across the floorboards. Draco winced at the bright light coming in through the drapes as he sat up.

“Merlin, Potter, would you quit pacing?” Draco huffed.

“I’ve made a mental list of things we need to do today,” Harry said, continuing to pace.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Which is?”

“Shower, eat, and sort through all of my shite,” Harry said, listing them off on his fingers.

Draco snorted. “Your mental or physical shite?”

“Oi, my physical shite,” Harry said defiantly.

“Alright, fine. Although, I would like to hear how you would propose showering,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. We take turns. Whoever isn’t in the shower will sit on the toilet and then we’ll swap,” Harry explained.

“I really have no desire to be quite so close to you while I shower,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, you don’t have to shower. You can choose to be gross and greasy. Meanwhile, I’ll be clean and feeling fucking fantastic. Now, get up. I need to pee.”

Draco begrudgingly slid out of bed and into the warm, sticky May air. He followed Harry halfway down the hall and into the bathroom, facing the wall while Harry relieved his bladder. Once done, they swapped positions. Draco took a hard look at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t seen himself properly in a few days and the amount of change that had physically occurred startled him. He looked even more exhausted than he had after waking up on May 3rd and his bones were slightly more prominent. Grease darkened the roots of his white-blond hair and he frowned at his reflection. He did, indeed, look considerably gross and it certainly seemed like a shower was long overdue.

Pulling his pajama bottoms up, he asked, “so, do you want to go first?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, saying in a mocking voice, “I thought you didn’t want to shower so close to me.”

“Whatever, Potter. Just get in the damn shower before I change my mind,” Draco huffed, plopping down on the toilet seat.

He watched as Harry, fully clothes in his pajamas, climbed into the shower. Once pulling the curtain over, Draco could hear him stripping. Then, unexpectedly, Harry threw his dirty clothes, which had been squashed into a ball, directly at Draco.

“Ewe! Fuck, Potter!” Draco yelled, batting away the clothing.

From the other side of the curtain came a bark of laughter as Harry turned on the shower.

Draco sighed, listening to Harry uncap bottles of cleansing potions. After a minute or two, the steaming bathroom began to smell like green apples. Suddenly, a memory flashed across his mind.

_He stared at his reflection, carefully adjusting his crisp bowtie and the tail of his dress robes. He had on his best shoes ─ a pair of shiny black oxfords - and his hair was neatly slicked back in the way his mother liked. Although Draco had gotten dressed up for many occasions at the Malfoy Manor, he’d never had the opportunity to do so in front of his peers. Giving himself one last good look, he strolled away, heading out of his dorm and down to the Slytherin common room._

_“Draco!”_

_Suddenly, Draco was being squeezed by a very enthusiastic Pansy Parkinson. She pulled back from the hug, a wide smile spreading across her face. Her black bob, which was naturally pin-straight, had been curled slightly. In addition to thick black eyeliner, she was also wearing dark red lipstick to match her emerald green gown._

_“You look great, Pans,” Draco said._

_“Thanks, darling. So do you! I’m a lucky girl,” Pansy giggled, winking._

_Suddenly, Draco felt a pat on his shoulder. He turned around, coming face to face with Vincent, Greg, Blaise, Theo, Milicent, and Daphne._

_“Don’t let Pansy’s affection go to your head, Draco. You’re still an ugly git,” Milicent said, putting her hands on her wide hips._

_Draco rolled his eyes. “Same goes, Millie.”_

_“Are you guys ready?” Blaise asked the group, and everyone nodded._

_“Right, let’s go kick some arse,” Pansy said, looping her arm through Draco’s before leading them out of the common room._

_By the time the group of Slytherins reached the Great Hall, kids were laughing and dancing all around. Everything was covered in rich ice sparkles, as though Christmas itself had kissed the Great Hall._

_Just as Draco began walking into the hall, someone bumped his shoulder. Looking around, he scowled when his eyes landed on Harry._

_“Watch it, Potter,” Draco spat._

_“Yeah, Potty. Watch it,” Pansy chimed in, taking great care in straightening Draco’s bowtie._

_Harry turned to face them, a look of panic in his eyes. “Whatever, Malfoy.”_

_As he stalked off, Draco could catch the scent of fresh green apples. It came from the direction of where Potter had been standing. He inhaled deeply, watching Harry’s figure disappear into the crowd. He stilled, feeling rather hollow. For some reason, the mere sight of Potter had invoked more feeling in him than seeing Pansy dressed to the nines._

_“Draco, darling, don’t let him get to you. Come on, let’s dance before they introduce the champions,” Pansy whined, pulling at Draco’s sleeve._

_Draco, not having any other choice, kissed Pansy’s cheek. “Alright. Let’s go make everyone else wish they were us.”_

“Shower’s free!” Harry said, turning off the water.

Draco blinked, watching as Harry’s arm stretched out from behind the curtain to grab a towel hanging off the rack.

After a minute of rustling, Harry stepped out of the shower, the towel tightly wrapped around him. Draco stared, his eyes tracing ribbons of water droplets racing down his damp skin.

“Right. Okay,” Draco said, standing up.

He stepped into the wet shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. After stripping his clothes off and leaving them in a heap right under the towel rack, he turned the shower on and began to wash.

The hot water felt incredible. Although he had been cleaned and cured the previous day, there was still a feeling of healing when he rinsed away the residual grime and blood. Letting out a long sigh, he closed his eyes and moved directly under the showerhead.

The minutes passed in a blur, Draco taking his time in rinsing all of the apple-scented suds off of his exhausted body. Once he turned off the water, wrapped himself in a towel, and stepped out of the shower, he found Harry sitting on the toilet, still dripping wet.

“Merlin, you look like a wet kitten. Come on. Let’s go back to the bedroom,” Draco sighed, motioning for Harry to follow him.

“Gee, thanks,” Harry said sarcastically as they walked down the hall.

Draco got dressed first, gently combing through the trunk of clothing that he’d brought with him. After pulling on a fresh pair of pajamas, he collapsed onto the bed. Harry, who had been closing his eyes, switched places with him. As Draco closed his eyes, he could hear Harry’s towel dropping to the floor. He tried to block out the fact that his supposed boyfriend was naked a mere few feet away from him. Instead, he concentrated on the sound of Harry pulling clothes out of the chest drawers.

“Did … did you read my letters?” Harry asked and Draco’s eyes blinked open.

Harry, who was now fully dressed in a new pair of pajamas, was fuming in front of him.

“Yeah. What do you care?” Draco shrugged.

Anger flashed across Harry’s face. “What do I care? Fuck, Draco, I don’t know. Maybe I care because I don’t want you to know what it was like between us! Maybe I care because you now is different from you then! Maybe I care because the love of my life is dead and all I’m left with is you!”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what the hell you want, Potter. First, you tell me all about our relationship and how amazing it used to be. Then, you go and completely shut me out. What the fuck?”

“I only did that at the beginning because I thought I had a chance! Don’t you understand that? I thought I had a shot at having you back. I don’t want you knowing any more about what we were and what you meant to me because you’ll only tarnish it. I don’t want the few memories I have of us together to be ruined by your mockery. I may be stuck here with you now, but once we get this bond fixed, I never want to see you again. Do I make that clear?” Harry shouted, hot tears streaming down his face.

Draco took in a shaky breath. “Crystal, Potter. And the same goes to you. I have no intention of seeing you after this, either. All I want is to just get through it, and then I’ll be done with you. And I’m fucking glad the old me is gone. I can already tell from the letters that he was a pathetic boy who was in love with the idea of love itself, not you.”

“God, can you hear yourself?” Harry yelled, his voice cracking. “I don’t want you anymore. That’s what you don’t understand. You keep making fun of me, rubbing in the fact that I’ll never have you back. That’s the thing, though, Draco. You’re as good as dead to me. After all of this is done, I’m going to move on with my life. I’m going to find a nice partner and settle down with them, have a few kids, grow old. And hell, I’m going to fucking enjoy it. But you? You’re going to have a miserable life.”

As Harry wordlessly stopped pacing and climbed into his makeshift bed, all Draco could concentrate on was the rush of blood pounding in his ears.


	13. Chapter 13

They managed to avoid each other for the rest of the day, completely ignoring the list of things that Harry had wanted to accomplish. Despite Draco’s stomach continuously rumbling with hunger, he refused to ask Harry if they could go to the kitchen to get something to eat. While Harry spent his time curled up in his bed reading some Muggle book, Draco took to staring at the ceiling and thinking about how fucked up everything was.

There had been something so easy about growing up the only child in Malfoy Manor. Everything had been within his reach. The world had been his. Now, he could feel restrictions binding him from all sides. The sporadic flashes of memories he seemed to be receiving were far more disruptive than he had initially thought. It had been one thing for Harry to say that they had intimately known each other throughout their years at Hogwarts, whether that was in a negative or positive manner. It was another thing to relive those moments first hand. He had no desire to experience what he and Harry had been through together. Those days were over.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Draco was at his wit’s end. Harry was still in his bed, not making a single sound. Tired of sitting in complete silence, he let out an audible groan.

“Can we please go to the kitchen so I can get some dinner?” he asked, sitting up from his four-poster bed.

Harry’s eyes flickered upwards and he sighed, shutting his book. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

The walk down to the kitchen was, unsurprisingly, quiet. The tension between them was palpable, and while Draco wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of conversing with Harry, it would be better than complete and utter silence.

“So,” Draco began as Harry flicked on the kitchen light, “this is Sirius’ house?”

“Well, childhood home, really,” Harry said, absently opening the fridge. “I’m surprised you didn’t know about Grimmauld Place, though. Surely your mum must have spent a lot of time here as a kid.”

Draco shrugged as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “She probably did. I don’t know. She never really talked much about Sirius or Regulus when I was growing up. I know that Sirius was a pretty disagreeable person and brought a lot of shame upon the family, though.”

At that, Harry stared cooly at him. “You don’t know anything about Sirius. He was the kindest, bravest person I knew. It was his parents that were the fuckups ─ especially his mum.”

“Fine,” Draco spat, “then tell me what he was like.”

As Harry went about cracking four eggs into a pan sitting on the stovetop, he let out a heavy sigh. “Sirius was everything to me. Besides you, he was the one person who truly made me feel like I wasn’t fucking everything up. With him, it was okay to not be okay. I think he, out of everyone, understood what I was going through. He was able to get what I was feeling, you know?”

“How do you even know Sirius?” Draco asked.

“After Voldemort killed my parents─”

“Wait, what?” Draco asked, interrupting him. “He killed your parents? Why am I just finding out about this?

Harry shrugged. “You never bothered to ask.”

Draco scowled. “How was I supposed to know to ask?”

“Well, if you were a fucking decent person, you would have known to ask about me and my family! Did you ever stop and think to ask what the bloody fucking war was even about?” Harry asked.

“I,” Draco began, Harry’s words hitting him, “I think with the memory loss and injuries, I just didn’t have time to ask. But I’m asking now and that’s what counts, right?”

Harry paused, giving a short nod. “I guess. Where do you want me to start, then? What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Draco said, sighing. “Tell me everything.”

For the following four hours, Harry proceeded to tell Draco about the war, delving into detail about Voldemort, the prophecy, his parents’ murders, Lucius’ involvement, and Sirius. By the time he had finally finished recounting all of the main events, Draco’s head hurt.

“Fucking Merlin. That’s a lot,” Draco muttered, rubbing his temples. 

As he stared at Harry, who was tracing patterns along the wooden tabletop with his index finger, he couldn’t help but feel as though he knew far too much. Although it was difficult to come to terms with, he had needed to learn about his father’s willing participation in the war, as well as why everything had seemingly revolved around Harry. Everything, unfortunately, made far more sense.

There was also the uncomfortableness that came with understanding the events that made Draco into the type of man who would love Harry. It seemed impossible, and yet it had very clearly happened. 

“Yeah. It’s been a pretty shitty couple of years,” Harry said, sighing. 

Draco looked outside of the open kitchen window. Across the pale midnight sky sat thousands of silver stars, basking the back garden in an ivory glow. The only sounds echoing through the night were that of owls nesting in the pine trees that lined the property and a soft breeze, which rustled the light fabric of the window’s curtains.

“I don’t know how any of you got through it,” Draco said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “A lot of us didn’t.”

Draco decided to leave the conversation there, having had enough for one night. As he and Harry sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, he mulled over what Harry had told him and realized that there had been some familiarity in his words. Sitting with the vague feeling of recognition, he couldn’t help but wonder if the old him was coming back.


	14. Chapter 14

_The castle had been warm on the evening of September 1st, 1991, everything basking in the glow of candlelight. As all of the 1st years followed McGonagall, Draco’s eyes flickered over the crowd, searching for the lightning bolt scar._

_Draco had heard that the famous Harry Potter was to be attending Hogwarts, and his parents had made it very clear that it was his job to initiate a friendship. However, when he saw Harry for the first time on the Hogwarts Express, he hadn’t expected him to be the small, scrawny boy he had met at Madam Malkin’s._

_He had been so certain in his ability to make friends with Harry, and yet he had completely and utterly failed - not only making a fool out of himself, but out of his family’s name. Now, as he watched a girl named Hannah Abbot get sorted into Hufflepuff, a swell of shame rose up his throat and his cheeks burned hot. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t seem to quite understand what it was about him that made Harry so angry. There was also the fact that Harry didn’t seem to particularly care that Weasley came from a poor, Gryffindor family. In fact, he didn’t seem to care about social constructs at all - something that was entirely new to Draco. He had been raised to judge people based on their family backgrounds, therefore Harry’s actions seemed both wrong and peculiar._

_“Malfoy, Draco!”_

_Draco blinked, realizing that McGonagall had just called his name. Feigning confidence, he strolled cooly up to the stool. The hat had barely graced his head before declaring him Slytherin. He grinned, pride coursing through his veins as he wandered over to the Slytherin table. As he sat down, he made the mistake of looking towards Harry, whose green eyes were narrowed, face hard. Draco swallowed thickly under his stare, feeling a flush of both anger and embarrassment. However, that didn’t keep him from hoping that Harry was going to be sorted into Slytherin._

_When the Sorting Hat was placed on Harry’s head, Draco’s breath hitched out of nervous anticipation._

_“Gryffindor!”_

_At that, Draco’s face fell, disappointment washing over him as he watched Harry walk over to the Gryffindor table with a wide smile on his face._


	15. Chapter 15

“I think I’m starting to remember things.”

Draco stared at Harry, waiting for a response as his words hung in the air.

Harry stopped cutting his apple, looking up in confusion. “You … you what?”

Draco sighed, running a hand anxiously through his hair. “I’ve been getting these … flashes of memories, snippets of things from our time at Hogwarts. And last night, I had a dream about the Sorting Hat ceremony.”

“Huh. Well, you did call me ‘Potty’ the other day. Are ... are you sure it wasn’t just a dream?” Harry asked, frowning as he resumed making his lunch.

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head. “This wasn't just a dream. I could feel that it was real.”

“Alright. Tell me what happened in it, then,” Harry said.

Draco let out a heavy sigh. “I had offered you my friendship on the Hogwarts Express and you had declined, saying you could tell the wrong sort for yourself. Then, when I was sorted into Slytherin, you glared at me.”

Harry paused once again, arching an eyebrow. “I mean, that is pretty much what happened. What else have you remembered?”

“Yesterday, when you were in the shower, I remembered bumping into you at the Yule Ball,” Draco said, pointedly leaving out the fact that he had, in fact, also remembered their first kiss. Whether from embarrassment or denial, Draco decided to keep that tidbit for himself.

“Oh.”

“And when you were telling me about the war last night, I kept getting this overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. I don’t know, Potter. It’s odd.”

Wordlessly, Harry placed two plates of lunch down on the kitchen table before taking a seat. Together, they sat in silence, both of them absently picking at their food.

Thirty minutes had passed before either one of them spoke.

Draco cleared his throat, staring at the empty plate in front of him. “Will you help me look into removing the … well … the thing on my arm?”

“Sure. Want to go take a look in the library?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

After quickly cleaning the dishes, they wandered out of the kitchen, across the sitting room and grand foyer, and to the library.

When Draco walked through the doorway, he let out an audible gasp. The library was far more ornate than the one at his own house. The ceilings, which towered high above, were crusted with gold plating and a multitude of large antique paintings hung from the stone, gray walls. For as far as he could see, there were rows upon rows of bookshelves, all of them filled to the brim. It was enough to rival the library at Hogwarts.

Behind him, Harry took out his wand, bringing the torches that lined the walls to life. A soft orange flow fell across the library, illuminating the spines of thousands of books.

“Where the bloody hell do we even begin?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Why don't we just pick different bookcases and start there?”

“Sure. Let me know if you find something.”

While Harry disappeared in between two bookshelves, Draco moved a little bit away, making sure to not exceed a distance of six feet.

Time passed by in a blur, midday quickly trickling into late afternoon. Draco had made his way through a significant amount of books in the hours that had passed, although none of them had been remotely helpful. Just as he was about to take a break, he heard Harry call from a row away.

“Draco! I think I found something!”

Without responding, Draco darted to the next row over. He found Harry, who was standing in front of a bookshelf pressed against the right wall. In his hand was a small, open book, its pages weathered, worn, and stained. Draco approached him.

“Here,” Harry said, pointing to the left page as he handed the book over to him. “Read this. I think it’s the type of magic that was used to create the Dark Mark.”

Taking the book, Draco began to skim the passage that Harry had indicated.

_The amount of spells that can be used to create unique, powerful markings are few and far between. However, one witch, Ezelda Crane, managed to create exactly that in 1702._

_Known as the Mirce spell, this form of magic has become popular among those who wish to collaborate with like-minded individuals. If used properly, the Mirce spell will allow any amount of participating individuals to share a bond with each other via a marking or symbol._

Draco skimmed the part explaining how to cast the Mirce spell. Having to skip a few pages forward, his eyes finally landed on the vital information.

_However, it should be noted that the Mirce spell is incredibly difficult to reverse. This is caused by the way in which the magic manifests in bodies. Once the spell is cast, the magic grips the veins surrounding the area of said mark, running deep. There have been many instances in which people have been able to remove the surface level magic, but were left with the deeper magic that had been threaded throughout veins, blood vessels, and nerves._

_Now, this is not to say that reversing the Mirce spell is impossible ─ it simply takes a very skilled witch or wizard. The removal spell is incredibly advanced magic, and it has a tendency to be quite temperamental. In addition to the magic itself being difficult to remove, it’s also very painful. Please heed with caution._

_Here are five step-by-step details on how to remove your Mirce Mark._

  1. _Make sure that the area of skin you are going to be working on has been thoroughly sanitized with Scourgify._
  2. _Press the tip of your wand to the Mirce Mark at a forty degree angle._
  3. _Say the incantation, clear and concisely._
  4. _You will feel an uncomfortable burning and tugging sensation. Do not break contact between the wand and your skin. If need be, press down harder._
  5. _Repeat the incantation every minute._



_It should be noted that during the removal, you will notice black matter, somewhat akin to ink, seeping to the surface of your skin. This is normal. If done correctly, the black matter will slowly trickle through the surface of your skin and into the air. You will know that you have correctly extracted all of the magic when the black matter turns crimson in color._

Draco, remembering to breathe, stared at Harry.

“Well?” Harry asked, folding his arms.

“I─” Draco began, briefly looking back at the instructions on the page. “I can’t believe you found it.”

Harry gave him a small smile. “So, what do you think?”

“I want to do it,” Draco said firmly.

“Okay. Maybe we can see if Harlowe can─?”

“Now.” Harry frowned.

“Now? Draco, I don’t think I’m qualified to be able to perform such advanced magic.”

Draco nodded. “Now, Potter. I need it out of me. I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Do you want me to help you with it?"

Draco nodded.

“Alright. Where should we do it?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “Kitchen, maybe? It’ll make for easy clean up.”

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, Draco strolled out of the library, book in hand, and towards the kitchen. He could hear Harry trailing behind him.

When they reached the kitchen, Draco set the book on the table. Soft amber light was flooding through the window, casting a golden shadow on everything.

“Alright. How do you want to do this, then?” Harry asked, his eyes darting nervously to Draco’s left arm.

“I don’t know. I guess we should start by _Scourgifying_ my forearm.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. I think I’ll need you to take your shirt off.”

At that, Draco shot him a look.

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, “Merlin, I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just going to need better access to your arm.”

“Fine,” Draco said, sighing. He swiftly took off his pajama top and was suddenly aware of how awkward the entire situation was. However, he didn’t protest when Harry’s gaze poured over his bare torso, realizing that this was probably the only time he had seen him with his shirt off.

Harry cleared his throat, his eyes flicking upwards. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

“Let’s.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Would you stay still?”

Draco frowned, staring at Harry, who was sitting next to him at the kitchen table. He looked nervous, his black hairline rimmed with beads of sweat.

“Merlin, sorry,” Draco huffed.

“S’fine. Now, hold out your arm, Dark Mark up.”

Draco did as he was told, gingerly placing his shaking arm upwards on the table. He swallowed hard as Harry took out his wand and began to cast Scourgify over his pale skin. A swift cool sensation brushed over him, lifting off any germs, grime, or residue on his arm.

Once his skin had been cleaned, Harry looked at him. “Alright. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, Draco watched as Harry adjusted the book so as to see the instructions better. While Harry read the passage over again once more, Draco noticed his heartbeat thudding in the quiet of the room. The air in the kitchen had come to a complete standstill and Draco was sure he could have heard a feather drop.

“Do you want me to count down, or─” Harry began, breaking the silence.

“Just bloody do it, Potter,” Draco snapped.

“Fine,” he said quietly.

Gently, Harry pressed the tip of his wand into the middle of the Dark Mark.

A dusty blue light seeped out of the tip of the wand and into Draco’s skin. Almost immediately, a deep tugging sensation began to bloom in his veins. As the seconds passed, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. By the fifteenth second mark, an intense burning was accompanying the tugging. As Draco watched the surface layer of ink leave his skin, particles collecting in the air right above his wrist, his breath hitched. The serpent’s head was beginning to slowly dissolve before him.

When a minute had passed, Harry repeated the incantation. Draco winced, squeezing his eyes shut as several tears leaked down his cheeks. The pain was nearly intolerable, burning him from the inside out.

By the time Harry said the incantation for the third time, Draco’s vision was beginning to turn fuzzy around the edges, blurring Harry’s screwed up face of concentration into the background of the brightly lit kitchen.

“Potter,” Draco gasped, sweat rolling down his face, “Harry. Stop. Please.”

“Draco, I’m almost done,” Harry whispered, not breaking eye contact with the ink crawling out of his skin.

“I can’t. I can’t,” Draco sobbed.

“It’s okay, love. It’s almost over,” Harry said, his voice dripping with a tenderness that Draco had only heard in memories.

As Draco’s vision began to dissolve into blackness, his head slumping over on the table, he could just make out Harry’s silhouette as he removed his wand from his skin. Somewhere, off in the distance, Harry’s voice echoed.

“I’ve got you.”

☙ ☙ ☙

When Draco woke, he was in the four-poster bed in Harry’s room. Silver streams of moonlight filtered in through the open window, bringing with them a soft gust of wind. The night seemed soft.

Rolling over onto his left side, Draco stared at the blank skin on his inner forearm. Besides an undertone of crimson around the area of the Dark Mark, there were no other signs that it had ever existed. Slowly, he began to flex his hand and wrist. While slightly sore, movement felt much better than he had expected.

As Draco sat up, his eyes locked with Harry’s from his spot on the floor. He was in his makeshift bed and an open book laid in his lap. The floor lamp’s honey-colored light caught on the deep purple circles underneath Harry’s eyes.

“You okay?” Harry asked, his voice breaking the silence.

“Yeah. You?” Draco asked, blinking at him.

Harry nodded. “Fine. A little tired. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Alright. How does your arm feel?”

“Okay. Better than I had thought it was going to feel.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Harry said, beaming.

“What time is it?” Draco asked.

“A little after midnight. I think I’m actually going to head to sleep. Do you mind?”

Draco shook his head. “Not at all. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

After Harry placed his book on the floor, flicked off the lamp, and tucked himself in, a thick blanket of quiet settled in over the room, leaving Draco to his thoughts.

Feeling awkward in a sitting position, he sank back into bed. Just as he had closed his eyes, he heard a rustling sound coming from Harry’s direction.

Draco paused, stilling his breath to listen. Suddenly, the rustling sound filled the room once again. He rolled his eyes, realizing that the shuffling noise came from Harry moving about in his bed.

After thirty minutes of on and off restless noises, Draco could hear Harry let out a heavy sigh.

“For Merlin’s sake, get into the damn bed,” Draco said, his voice piercing the silence.

“ … Really?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Really,” Draco sighed, scooting over to the right side of the bed as Harry got up.

While Harry situated himself, Draco couldn’t help but notice their proximity. The sharp smell of Harry’s apple soap filled the sweet summer air, and Draco let out a soft breath.

Both facing inwards, they stared at each other.

“You called me ‘love’ today,” Draco whispered.

At that, Harry swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I … sorry about that.”

Draco shook his head. “No, it’s okay.”

Harry let out a huff of dry laughter. “I haven’t called you ‘love’ in so long. Months. Nearly a year, I guess.”

Draco blinked, taking Harry in. His skin, smoky quartz in color, was glowing in the light of the moon, and a soft, barely visible layer of freckles fell over the bridge of his large nose. His eyes, no longer hiding behind glasses, were bright with nostalgia.

As he looked at Harry, a feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. Draco swallowed hard, immediately recognizing it as the dreaded feeling of arousal.

Internally chastising himself, Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s lips.

There was no denying that Harry was handsome. That much was obvious. However, it was the fact that Draco was taking a personal notice in his aesthetic that bothered him. Considering the fact that the man bothered him beyond belief, he could hardly fathom that he had a growing erection simply from looking at him. That, and there was far too much history between the two of them. The knowledge that they had been dating, or rather, in love, left him feeling unsettled and like he was breaking a promise to himself. The more he looked at the man, the more he realized that he didn’t hate him.

“Draco? You okay?” Harry asked, frowning.

Barely registering that Harry had spoken, Draco closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Potter. Just go to sleep.”

“O─okay. Goodnight.”

As Draco turned around, facing the wall, he couldn’t help but feel defeated.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: sex, although you're absolutely able to skip it if you want! I'll catch you up in the next chapter!

Time passed by slowly, minutes trickling into hours. After days of politely avoiding Harry as much as he could, Draco was beginning to think that he was never going to get out of this monotonous mess.

It was on a restless Sunday afternoon that things changed.

Draco was lounging on the couch in the sitting room, pretending to read an incredibly boring book he had found in the library. Harry was sprawled across the chair next to the couch, engrossed in an article from _The Daily Prophet_ recounting the previous night’s Quidditch match between the Appleby Arrows and Pride of Portree.

As Draco absently turned the page, without reading a single word, he found himself thinking about the last time he had gotten fresh air. Looking towards the window, he let out a sigh. The sky was pale blue, puffy clouds drifting across it. Wildflowers growing in the front garden swayed with every gust of warm wind. It looked like the perfect English afternoon.

Despite wanting nothing more than to avoid Potter, Draco was desperate for a bit of outside time.

“Potter,” Draco began, breaking the silence. “How would you feel about going outside for a while?”

Harry looked up and blinked at him. “Outside?”

Draco nodded. “I need some fresh air.”

“Okay.”

After wandering towards the door that led to the back garden, Harry held the door open for Draco. As he brushed past Harry, he could feel the tips of his ears growing warm.

Stepping outside, Draco inhaled deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs. He immediately felt cleaner, the stuffiness of the house leaving him.

He sat on the marble bench by the back door with a sigh, and Harry followed. Honey-colored sunlight fell onto the garden, catching on pale rose petals. It was warm out, but not too warm, and a cool breeze rolled softly over his skin.

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Harry asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Draco let out a startled laugh. “I don’t think we’re qualified to say ‘when we grow up’ anymore, Potter. We _are_ of age, after all.”

At that, a crimson undertone bloomed across Harry’s cheeks. “Yeah. Right. Well, let me rephrase. What type of job do you want to have?”

“I don’t know,” Draco sighed, looking straight ahead at the garden. “When I was younger, I wanted to work at the Ministry like Father. Now, though … I’m not sure. Even though I don’t properly remember, I suppose things have changed quite a lot.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I understand. I wanted to be an Auror for a long time, but I’ve decided against that. I think I’m ready to unlearn being on alert all the time.”

“Makes sense. What are you thinking of doing now?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. I could get any job at the Ministry, to be honest, but I’d rather earn a position fair and square. I don’t know if I want a desk job, though. I think I’d get antsy.”

“Well, you don’t have to decide now, do you?” Draco asked.

“No, I don’t, although it’d be nice to figure it out.”

“I understand.”

There was a gentle lull in their conversation, the only sound being that of the wind rustling the garden flora. Draco squinted up at the sky, watching stark white clouds drift across the sky. Pale golden sunlight fell through the clouds, dotting the garden in patches of light. There was a softness to everything, and Draco realized he felt content for the first time in a while.

As they sat together in the quiet, Draco couldn't help but become overtly aware of how close he was to Harry. The distance between them wasn’t new, however, as Harry had taken to sleeping in the four-poster bed with Draco. Despite this, the feeling of closeness always managed to overwhelm him. Each night, he would draw as far away from Harry as possible, not wanting to soak in the feeling of domesticity. There was a usurpation that came with sharing the same bed, as he knew that this was where his past self had longed to be. It was simultaneously thrilling and uncomfortable, leaving Draco with a bad taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t even wank his feelings out ─ not with Harry being a few feet away from him at all times. The situation was proving to be difficult, as there were some moments throughout each day where the light hit Harry just right. Whenever that happened, Draco would try to swallow his lust and lower his rising blood pressure. Unfortunately, this often failed, and he was left with wanting nothing more than to tear Harry’s clothes off.

Draco sighed, his eyes following a bumblebee landing on a white rosebush nearby. _It would be nice to be anything but human_ , he thought to himself. _Being human is far too complicated._

It was Harry who broke the silence.

“I never apologized for yelling at you about the letter the other day.”

Draco looked at him, startled. “It’s fine.”

“I think I was angry that you were able to see what it was like between us. It’s one thing for me to tell you, but it’s another for you to experience it. Anyway, I didn’t mean what I said about not wanting you anymore. I’d still take you back in a heartbeat but I know that’s not going to happen. And I’ve accepted that. I know that when all of this is said and done, you’re going to go one way and I’ll go the other. I’ll admit, though, it’s going to be hard seeing you move on with your life: getting a job, finding your own house, falling in love with a partner, maybe having kids. Those were things we were planning to do one day, you know?”

Draco looked at Harry, taking his words in. _He still wants me_.

They stared at each other and Draco’s eyes flicked down to Harry’s lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

Slowly, he began to move in closer.

“Uh, Draco? What are you─” Harry began.

Before he could finish, Draco was roughly pressing their lips together. Harry let out a moan in the back of his throat as he tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Draco’s neck, pulling them closer together.

Their movements were angry and feverish, their teeth clashing as they tore at each other.

Draco broke away, panting as he looked into Harry’s eyes.

Wordlessly, Harry dragged Draco up from the bench, their lips meeting once again. Without parting, they stumbled messily through the back door and into the kitchen.

Draco backed Harry up to the kitchen counter, pressing him hard against it as he began to lift the hem of his shirt up. Harry happily obliged, letting Draco pull the shirt over his head before he returned the favor. Once both of their torsos were bare, Draco pressed back into Harry, soaking in the skin on skin contact. He ran his hands over Harry’s chest, his skin hot and smooth, before reaching around his waist.

His fingers trailed Harry’s skin, leaving deep scratch marks down the length of his back. Harry let out a moan and Draco could feel his dick straining against his joggers.

“I want your dick in my mouth,” Draco whispered breathlessly in Harry’s ear.

“Do it, then,” Harry said, shoving him down to his knees.

Draco, eye level with Harry’s crotch, stared at the tenting fabric. Hesitantly, he began to palm Harry through his joggers, massaging his balls. Harry tilted his head back, thrusting into Draco’s touch.

“Fucking get on with it already, will you?” Harry asked, sharply.

Without thinking too deeply about it, Draco pulled Harry’s joggers and underwear down in one swift motion and placed his hands on his hips for stability. Harry’s dick was thin and long, precome covering the tip. Draco swallowed hard, his own arousal becoming nearly unbearable. He glanced up at Harry, looking at him once more for consent. Harry caught his eye and nodded.

Slowly, Draco took him in his mouth, and he began to move his head.

“Fuck,” Harry moaned, gripping Draco’s hair.

Suddenly, Harry’s cock hit the back of Draco’s throat and he gagged slightly.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked, looking down.

Draco nodded, breathing heavily through his nose.

Pulling back slightly, he began to press his tongue to the tip, the bitter taste of precome filling his mouth. Harry gripped his hair tighter, and Draco let out a moan of both ecstasy and pain, hating that he was loving this. Beneath his hands, he could feel Harry’s muscles begin to tighten, his body trembling.

Draco went back to taking as much of Harry’s dick as he could, picking up the pace.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then, hot liquid shot into Draco’s mouth. Not quite sure what to do with it, he swallowed, the taste of it burning the back of his throat.

Once Harry had finished, Draco stood up and kissed him, his own dick aching.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry said, breaking the kiss as he stepped out of the joggers around his ankles.

Draco’s heart thudded against his chest and he nodded. “I can do that.”

Without waiting for Draco, Harry wandered over to the kitchen table, leaning over it. Draco followed, watching as Harry cast both cleaning and lubricant spells, his hole glistening.

Once Draco was behind him, he pushed down his pajama bottoms. Casting his own lubricant spell and condom spell, he began to tug slowly on his dick as he gently stuck a finger into Harry’s hole.

Harry gasped, leaning his head down on the table.

“This okay?” Draco asked, slowly moving his finger in and out.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Another.”

Draco gently added a second finger. By the time he added a third, Harry was whining. Draco couldn’t blame him, moans escaping from the back of his throat.

“Fuck me, Draco, please,” Harry said, lust dripping from his voice.

Nodding, Draco lined his cock up with Harry’s hole and slowly pushed in. As Harry stretched around him, he let out a gasp. Once he was all the way in, he stayed still for a moment, letting Harry adjust.

“Okay. I’m ready,” Harry sighed.

Draco began to thrust steadily and he reached over Harry’s back to grab a fistful of hair. Closing his eyes as he pounded into Harry, his body began to tremble.

“You feel so good,” Draco moaned as Harry met his thrust, pushing back onto Draco’s prick.

Harry gripped the edge of the table and his hardening prick with the other.

“Harder, Draco.”

Draco readily obliged, quickening his pace as his knees began to shake.

Draco came with a groan. He continued to thrust until his orgasm was over.

Still inside Harry, he reached around and gripped Harry’s dick, his hand moving up and down in quick strokes. It didn’t take long for Harry to come, semen dripping down Draco’s hand.

Slowly inching out of Harry, Draco stood up. Harry followed, turning around to face him. Without warning, Harry leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was different, soft and tender. When Harry pulled back, he had a lopsided grin on his face.

“I love you so much,” he said, sighing.

As Draco stared at Harry, he realized he had made a grave mistake.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wished to skip the sex scene in the last chapter: Harry and Draco have angry sex. At the end, Harry thinks the sex means that Draco is back and loves him again, which is very much so not the case.

“Uh, Harr─” Draco began, quickly correcting himself, “Potter, I don’t … I think we made a mistake.”

Harry’s wide smile slowly disappeared and his eyes hardened. “You literally just had your dick in me. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Draco swallowed thickly, looking anywhere but at Harry’s bare body. “I’m not in love with you, Potter. I just wanted to fuck.”

“You should have fucking _told_ me that so I didn’t go into this thinking I had you back!” Harry shouted, hastily pulling his clothing back on as his face screwed up in anger.

As Harry finished getting dressed, Draco swiftly pulled up his pajama bottoms and walked across the kitchen, picking his shirt up off the floor.

“You know,” Harry said, pacing, “I told you that I wanted you back and you took advantage of that. I trusted you with that information, because I thought we were getting to a place where we could be friends.”

Draco clenched his jaw, Harry’s anger contagious.

“You should have bloody known that I would never want you!” he yelled, his voice sharp. “You were here and you were fuckable. That was all.”

“I’m done with you. We’re finished,” Harry spat as his tears started to fall.

Draco let out a dry laugh. “We can’t be anymore than six feet apart, you prick.”

“Don’t you think I bloody know that? Has it never donned on you that I’m in pain all the time because of how close I have to be to you? It’s torture, Draco! When we were together, we couldn’t spend time together. Now I have nothing but time with you, but you don’t love me back,” Harry yelled, slamming his fist on the kitchen counter.

Draco paused, his chest heaving. Looking at Harry, he realized that he had never seen him so hurt. Tears were falling down his flushed face and his breath kept catching. He no longer looked like the strong Savior that Draco had come to know. Instead he looked like a boy in love with the wrong person.

“You always knew how this was going to end, Potter. You couldn’t have possibly expected anything different,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry took in a shaky breath. “Maybe, but at least I had hope.”

Draco didn’t quite know how to respond to Harry’s vulnerability. Their conversation had somehow taken a turn, all of the noise sucked out of the room. In many ways, he found quiet anger to be far more terrifying.

Suddenly, a memory flashed before him.

_“Draco.”_

_He looked across the dining room table at the Manor and into his father’s cold eyes. Around him, fellow Death Eaters were staring in his direction, quietly waiting for something to happen._

_“Draco,” his father repeated, a single bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “Do what the Dark Lord said.”_

_Draco swallowed hard and scooted his chair back, the noise echoing against the room. The air in the room was completely still, no one daring to breathe as he stood up, straightening his black robes._

_Moving slowly, Draco made sure to look down as he made his way towards the head of the table. No one looked the Dark Lord in the eyes._

_The silence was deafening._

_Coming to a halt, Draco watched as the Dark Lord braced his feet, pushing his chair back and standing up. His robes swept across the floor, Nagini following close behind._

_“Draco,” the Dark Lord said softly, his voice filling the empty air. “Draco, look at me.”_

_He could feel the Dark Lord’s hot breath on his face. Draco knew he had hesitated too long when he could hear his father clearing his throat at the other end of the table. Steadying himself, he allowed his eyes to flicker upwards. He was met with red irises._

_“Draco, I have a rather promising assignment for you,” the Dark Lord said, his lips curling into a smile._

_“Yes, my Lord,” Draco said, wincing as his voice cracked at the end._

_“You see, Draco, your father is in a rather precarious position. As he failed to bring me the prophecy and managed to get himself, along with ten of my best men, captured, I simply have no choice but to remind him that he is … how shall I say … disposable. This is where you come in, Draco. If you can succeed in killing Albus Dumbledore, your family’s good graces will be restored. If not, well ... ” the Dark Lord said._

_Letting out a quivering breath, Draco asked, “Dumbledore, my Lord?”_

_The Dark Lord walked forward, placing a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Yes, Dumbledore. As you are now a Death Eater, Draco, I expect the finest from you. Do not let me down.”_

_“Yes, my Lord. Of course.”_

_Dismissed, Draco made his way back to his seat. He could feel his muscles shaking violently underneath his robes. As he sat down, he shoved his trembling hands into his lap. Across the table, his father gave him a slight nod. Draco returned it, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that he was terrified._

_As the Dark Lord started on a long tangent about Muggle-borns, Draco found himself staring at patterns in the walnut table, much like how he had watched clouds as a child. While he searched for patterns, his mind drifted to Harry._

_Harry. The Boy Who Bloody Lived. The one person who managed to make his blood boil beyond belief._

_He was probably signing autographs somewhere, cosying up to journalists at the Daily Prophet. Pretending to be the hero that he wasn’t._

_He didn’t know how good he had it._

“Draco? Are you even listening to me?”

Draco blinked, his eyes drifting to Harry as he realized he had been lost in a forgotten memory.

“Sorry. Just remembered something,” he muttered.

Harry’s face immediately softened. “What was it?”

Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fist. “Nothing, Potter.”

“Fine.”

As Draco watched Harry take the furthest seat from him at the kitchen table, his eyes resuming their coldness, he felt his heart sink.


	19. Chapter 19

_Draco,_

_I apologize for not having contacted you sooner, despite being instructed by Harlowe to leave you two be. However, I have news that cannot wait._

_Harlowe and I have been working tirelessly to find what kind of bond has occurred between yourself and Harry, so much so that we have both taken to sleeping in Harlowe’s office. We believe that we had a breakthrough last night. This bond is particularly rare, which is why we had such difficulty finding it. The bond is caused by trauma happening to two witches or wizards' core magic at the exact same time, meaning the chances of it happening are incredibly low._

_As for the memory loss, we believe we have found a solution for that as well, although it’s not nearly as dangerous as what we attempted. Harlowe and several colleagues were able to come up with a potion._

_We will be waiting for you at St. Mungo’s. Please come at your earliest convenience._

_Love,_

_Mother xxx_

_P.S. I promised you it would get better, didn’t I?_

Draco stared at the letter in his trembling hands, not believing the words he had read.

After reading the letter a second time, and then a third, he looked back at Harry, who was sleeping soundly in the four-poster bed. It had been two weeks since they'd fucked, and things between them were still incredibly tense.

He needed to tell him.

Draco gave his mother’s owl, who was perched on the bedroom windowsill, a few pellets before ushering her off into the daybreak. Then, he wandered over to the bed.

He gently shook Harry's shoulder. “Come on. Wake up, you prick.”

Harry blinked his eyes open, frowning. “What?”

“I just got a letter from my mother. She and Harlowe have figured it out.”

Harry sat up and searched for his glasses on the nightstand. Once they were on, he stared at Draco.

“You’re not serious, are you? They found a cure?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “We need to go as soon as possible. Get dressed.”

They both got ready in record time, pulling on whatever clothes were on the floor of the bedroom. As they headed down the staircase and to the fireplace, Draco stopped.

“You think this is going to work, don’t you?” he asked.

Harry sighed. “I hope so.”

After Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder, they both stepped into the fireplace. Wasting no time, Harry threw the powder down.

Suddenly, they were engulfed in bright green flames. Despite having Flooed for as long as he could remember, Draco could never get used to the feeling of heat surrounding him.

Before he knew it, they were stepping into St. Mungo’s lobby. Not bothering to check in with the witch at the front desk, they headed straight for Harlowe’s office. As soon as Draco pushed the door open, he saw his mother and Harlowe bent over her desk, pouring over notes.

“Draco!” Narcissa said, a wide smile spreading across her face as she realized they'd arrived.

She embraced Draco in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Oh, darling. I’m so glad you’re here,” Narcissa said before turning in Harry’s direction. “And you too, Harry. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Harry said, nodding.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Harlowe began, pushing her glasses up. “No time to waste. The first thing I’m going to do is break the bond. You will feel a slight burning sensation but that should be it. Please stand abreast in front of me.”

As they stepped into place, Draco glanced over at Harry. He looked exhausted, his eyes slightly hollow, and there was a lack of light about him. Draco frowned, his stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot.

This was it.

“I’m going to count to three. Are you ready?” Harlowe asked, raising her wand.

They both nodded.

“One, two, three … _Wrasen Tolucan_!”

Draco winced as his skin began to crawl with heat that spread into his veins. He closed his eyes, willing for it to be over. However, as soon as it had started, it stopped. He opened his eyes, looking around the room. Everything felt the same.

“Did … did it work?” Narcissa asked.

Harlowe nodded. “Yes. Ironically, it was a fairly simple spell. Now, gentlemen, you are officially unbonded.”

Draco looked at Harry, who looked back at him. There was something in Harry’s eyes, but Draco couldn’t tell what it was.

“Now for your memory, Mr. Malfoy. I’ve come up with a spell that should trace who cast the memory charm on you. Once again, I’ll count to three,” Harlowe said.

“Alright,” Draco nodded.

“One, two, three … _Trod Se_!”

A coolness quickly washed over Draco and specks of blue began to seep out of his chest, forming the illusion of a face in front of him.

Narcissa gasped.

The face was that of his father’s. Draco momentarily forgot to breathe as his mind raced. His father was the one behind it.

“Oh, Draco,” Narcissa began, her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I think he was only trying to protect you.”

Draco swallowed thickly. “I don’t understand.”

“The night the battle ended, your father was talking of wanting nothing more than to erase what he'd put you through. He told me he wanted you to have a fresh start. He must have meant it literally,” Narcissa said, wiping her eyes.

“Are … are you okay, Draco?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Draco sighed. “Yes, Potter. I’m fine.”

Harry nodded.

“I know this must be a lot, Mr. Malfoy. Are you up for taking the potion that will restore your memories?” Harlowe asked.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Alright,” she said, grabbing a small vial off of her desk and wandering towards him.

“Is this it?” Draco asked, taking the vial.

“Yes, although you must drink it all,” Harlowe said.

“Okay. I can do that,” Draco said.

“Feel free to drink it whenever you’re ready,” Harlowe said, taking a step back.

Draco stared at the dark red liquid inside the bottle, watching it glint under the fluorescent lights. With one last glance at Harry, he uncorked the vial and emptied the potion into his mouth.

Suddenly, everything came back. Hearing his father talk in hushed tones to Mr. Crabbe about Quirrell, the heir of Slytherin, Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban, the Dementors, the Triwizard Tournament, the Dark Lord returning, the prophecy, the Vanishing Cabinets, Dumbledore, Severus, the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hating Harry, until he didn’t.


	20. Chapter 20

A month had passed since the bond was broken and Draco’s memories had returned, although it seemed like a lifetime.

After returning to the Manor, Narcissa had refused to let Draco out of her sight, shadowing him wherever he went. As annoying as it was, he could understand it. She was making up for all of the time he'd spent in Harry’s company instead of hers. He also knew that she was desperately missing his father, something he couldn’t fix.

Not being around Harry or sleeping with him in the same bed was an adjustment that Draco didn’t seem to be making. He was tied to no one but himself and he hated it.

Then, there were the memory issues. Remembering everything.

Once he'd drunk Harlowe’s potion, everything had changed. He felt different, as though the man who had been in love with Harry was a part of him once again. Whenever he thought about how he'd treated Harry during their time at Grimmauld Place, he couldn’t help but feel a burn of shame for having treated him so poorly. Now, he wanted nothing but to apologize.

As he sat in the sitting room with his mother, who was going on about her garden, Draco could feel a deep ache in his heart. He needed to talk to Harry.

“Draco, are you alright? I don’t think you’ve heard a word I've said,” Narcissa said, frowning.

Draco looked up, tears in his eyes. “Mother, I need to tell you something.”

Narcissa frowned, setting down her needlepoint. “Of course, darling. Anything.”

“Harry and I … we fell in love at the end of 6th year and we kept it a secret. When my memories vanished, I couldn’t believe it and I treated him horribly. But now … now, I think I love him again and I don’t know if he’ll take me back,” Draco said, his voice cracking.

“Oh, darling,” Narcissa said, taking a seat next to Draco and wrapping him in her arms. “Harry is a lovely boy. I think he would be open to listening to you. Why don’t you Floo over and talk to him?”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “What, now?”

“Yes, darling. Now. I’ve seen how miserable you’ve been this past month. You need to go talk to him,” Narcissa said.

Draco nodded, wiping his tears away. “Okay. Yes, you’re right. I’ll be back.”

Before he could lose his nerve, he Flooed to 12 Grimmauld Place. 

☙ ☙ ☙

“Harry!” Draco yelled, looking around as he stepped into the house. “Harry!”

“Draco?” Harry asked, walking out of the kitchen, dish towel in hand. “What the hell are you doing here? Have you … have you been crying?”

Draco sighed, holding back tears. “Harry, I … I’ve been having a terrible time without you this past month, especially because I remember everything. I … I remember loving you. And I still do, so I want to apologize to you for how I acted when we were bound. I was a complete and utter arsehole, and I can’t believe I treated you that way. It’s breaking my heart. I understand if you won’t take me back. I just needed you to know that I love you and I’m sorry.”

"You remember?” Harry asked, absently dropping the dish towel on the floor.

Draco nodded. “I remember.”

Harry ran towards Draco, wrapping him in a hug. As Draco felt Harry’s arms around him, warmth spread throughout his chest.

“It’s … you? You’re _my_ Draco?” Harry asked, tucking his head into the crook of Draco’s neck.

“I’m your Draco, Harry. I’m here,” he said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

Harry lifted his head, tears streaming down his face. “Of course I’ll take you back. You’re everything to me.”

“And you still want to build a life together?” Draco asked.

“I want nothing more. I love you, Draco,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too.”

Harry pressed their lips together and Draco could taste the saltiness of their tears as they moved closer. Harry was warm and solid. He was there, and Draco couldn’t ask for more.

The kiss was different from when they'd kissed while bonded. It was deep, filled with every ounce of love that both men had to give.

Everything felt right.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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